Necron Tales Of Whimsy
by INFERNOX
Summary: I saw the continual destruction of my people as a child. I felt the metal binding to my flesh when the C'Tan converted us. I was beside my brothers when we won the War in Heaven. And I slept alongside them when the Great Sleep began. My name is Vargard Obyron. I serve under Nemesor Zahndrekh. I awoke from the Great Sleep intact. Zahndrekh...not so much.
1. Prologue: Nemesor And Vargard

**Well, been a while since I wrote something. In fact, it's probably been a while since I wrote something for fun instead of writing an essay for college applications or AP classes, but I digress.**

**Since I can't really think of a good summary for this addition to fanon that will probably be skipped over in favor of the much more well-written fanfiction, I'll leave all the Author's Notes text for the footnotes. So, with all honestly, I hope you all enjoy this story!**

* * *

Low rumbles shook the metallic ground, with faint explosions dotting the silence; orange explosions lit up the dimming battlefield, shining upon the underbelly of the darkening storm clouds. Bright lights, almost like starry pinpricks, dashed about the field of battle, impacting the black-plated armor of the Emperor's Iron Hands or the sickly green-and-gray bodies of yet another Tomb World's Necron Forces. To most of these individuals, from the "individual-in-name-only" Necron Warrior to each unique Iron Hand Space Marine, this battle would be their last before their soul was sundered from their iron bodies.

To Vargard Obyron, it was a mildly amusing spectacle while awaiting further instruction.

Vargard Obyron, a Necron of high regard, stood regally amongst the rocky high ground seated upon the fringes of the battlefield. His metallic body shone a dull light, one that would remind oneself of the void before passing; a sickly green glow shone within his barren eye sockets, with a small metallic ball of sensors emitting the intimidating glow. With his green-colored and metallic regal shawl whipping itself around in the dirty winds of battle, the merciless Vargard oversaw the back-and-forth of the battle. Glancing his eyes to the Iron Hands, he saw how several individuals braved even the might of the soulless Necron Destroyers in close combat; upon laying eyes on the Necron forces, he saw a squad of nine Warriors rise up once more and eviscerate an Iron Hand, too caught up in his arrogance to realize – or even remember – about the Necron's Reanimation Protocols.

The Vargard let loose an ominous hum, hauntingly reminiscent of a chuckle. Turning his back on the stalemate of a fight, Vargard Obyron faced a squad of ten elite troops. All ten of his troopers would merely look the same from anyone else's eyes; Vargard Obyron knew better than to forget these individuals, however. Unlike the lesser Necron Warriors, the Vargard could tell each one of these beings apart through sheer analytical prowess: every cut, every scratch, every lasting dent that was not fully fixed from any previous reanimation served as personal identity to these creatures. Each of these bronze-plated metallic ghouls – rivaling Obyron in height, and wielding a glowing green one-edged sword in their right hands and a glowing green reflector shield adorned with bronze on their left – stood rigidly, emotionlessly, and patiently as the Vargard scanned each and every one of them down for faults.

"_Cuts and scratches: superficial damage. Denting on three faceplates: only one is extreme enough to affect fighting if we happen to be surrounded. Otherwise acceptable condition," _Vargard Obyron relayed to himself mentally. "_Chances for victory theoretically high. Hyperphase swords repaired as close to their original state as could possibly be made, dispersion shields tuned in to deflect even an Ordinance strike from a Monolith's stray Particle Whip…_"

Obyron cast his back to his loyal allies, looking upon the remaining eleven Iron Hands fighting the seemingly endless Necron forces. _"…and yet these humans fight onwards, with little regard for their lives so long as they go down fighting for their almighty God-Emperor. Disgusting dogma, yet its effectiveness does dull the chances of success more and more when organic adrenaline is taken into consideration."_

Vargard Obyron watched on as a Necron Destroyer grabbed an Iron Hand Space Marine by the arm, intending to rip it clean off. It did its job too well; the blood and gore spewed out violently, covering the Destroyer's visual sensors. A metallic fist punched through the head of the Destroyer soon after, effectively disintegrating the entire skull in one go; the wounded Iron Hand immediately took a direct hit from a heavy gauss cannon. Obyron stared as the Iron Hand stumbled, let off a couple potshots in an effort to spite the Necrons, and let his soul become severed from his mortal body as the gauss ate away at the gaping hole in his chest; with each layer of molecules being eaten away every second, from the metals of his armor to the flesh on his bones, Obyron deduced it was a quick, but excruciatingly painful death.

Obyron adjusted his mental calculations accordingly, and saw a slight increase in success-to-failure rates in the battle strategy presented to him by his own master earlier. Turning to his fellow Necrons standing loyally behind him, Obyron released the dreadful, near-monotonous tone of Necron speech.

"Lychguard of the Ogdobekh Dynasty, our victory is near assured," the Vargard began. "Give them no hope, for you shall receive none. Sunder their souls to whichever higher being they praise to, be it their corpse on the throne or the vile avatars of the Warp. Our brethren are awakening underground: we shall greet them with the corpses of the damned, we shall have them join us, and unity will be another Tomb World closer to being achieved."

The Lychguard stood silently, with their only motions being a small sway from explosions to a twitch from an internal glitch. Vargard stared each one of his Lychguard down, before he felt a tug in the back of his own mind, as if a voice was calling out to him.

"It is time."

* * *

"May the Emperor guide us!"

A single battlecry, shouted to the heavens by an Iron Hand whose name will be forever lost to time, would not be forgotten by the ten Iron Hands who stood on the field of battle that faithful day. With the Emperor's blood rejuvenated between them, a new holy power filled their minds, all echoing the same sentiment: the Emperor will guide you.

The Iron Hands looked forth at the oncoming Necron horde for but a split second, witnessing shambling Warriors and the more stable Necron Immortals advancing upon them. A volley of green gauss rounds and blue electricity from tesla carbines came forth upon them; the Iron Hands charged forth, the Emperor's willpower giving them the strength to endure such a brutal rain of death, despite the scorch marks now eating away at each of their white markings adorned upon their armor. For the Emperor, His glory comes first before one's own individuality, and the Iron Hands embraced such an idea with newfound abandon.

The Iron Hands, willpower evident in their very presence, began cutting a swath through the Necron forces. Warrior upon Warrior fell, their bodies stomped on callously by the assaulting Space Marines. Necron Immortals suffered a similar treatment, with their metallic bodies meeting the same fate as their lesser Warrior counterparts. The Iron Hands let out a roar not unlike an Ork Waagh! cry; to them, they believed they were invincible.

Three beams of white electricity, the same size as a shot fired from a Necron Warrior's gauss flayer, entered the mouth of a roaring Iron Hand. His flesh was seared open, his throat was cut, and his roar of invincibility was replaced with what could only be described as an abject gurgling-slash-cry of pain and terror. A cold feeling started to make its presence known on the Iron Hand, with his skin starting to freeze up in what seemed to be an accelerated form of frostbite, for lack of a better term. The nine uninjured Iron Hands stared at their soon-to-be-fallen brother, his blood freshly pouring out of his neck, cascading down his armor to the ground. The Iron Hand fell to his knees out of a sudden weakness; with his failing strength, he looked to the sky to hopefully see the Emperor's hand reaching out to guide him to safety by His side.

Blocking the dying Space Marine's view of the clouds, however, was an alien vehicle similar to a chariot of sorts; two Necrons of unknown make and model were rapidly typing at an interface the dying Iron Hand could not see. A third, regal Necron stood up in the seat of this flying chariot; it had a bronze-plated skull, a silvery and sleek body, the same sickly green light behind its optical sensor spheres near all Necrons shared, and a metallic green cape fringed with bronze-colored metal flowing behind it. The Necron, wielding a green-, gray-, and bronze-colored staff, slammed its base onto a flat piece of metal aboard the chariot, before doing an act that left the other nine Iron Hands stunned.

He started laughing.

"I have came, my Lord," Vargard Obyron stated in a plain yet menacing tone. The Iron Hands, shocked by the Necron's sudden bout of emotion, looked on in surprise as Vargard Obyron and his squad of ten Lychguard seemingly appeared out of thin air. The Vargard took one look at the situation up close – nine uninjured, confused, and soon-to-be-attacking Iron Hands, and one pitiful Iron Hand on his knees almost right in front of him – and made his first move. Vargard Obyron reached upon his back and grabbed at a handle, pulling it out from behind him as fast as he could. The injured Iron Hand watched in abject terror and curiosity as the Vargard unsheathed his Warscythe, a weapon that was simply a blade on a stick (albeit with the blade part glowing green).

In the span of seconds, Obyron swung his Warscythe and decapitated the Iron Hand in one fell swoop. This only made the royal Necron laugh louder.

"PFFFFT, BWAAAHAHA! AAAH, Obyron, Obyron, you never cease to amaze with your entrances!" the royal Necron boisterously shouted. "Appearing out of the shadows of pebbles, delivering death upon the opposing lesser in mere seconds…your unintentional dramatic flair makes my Necrontyr blood BOIL!"

"You need not be reminded you have no blood to have boiled, Lord Zahndrekh," Vargard Obyron stated plainly. "But the field of battle is no time for a comparatively trivial piece of data."

"XENO SCUM!" an Iron Hand screamed, charging Obyron while the latter was distracted.

"You will REGRET THAT!" a second Iron Hand screamed, also charging Obyron.

The two Iron Hands immediately punched Obyron right in his chest cavity; the forceful impact warranted a reverberating drone, not unlike the sound a gong makes after being hit. The two Iron Hands looked up after punching Obyron, intent to do so again.

One swipe of the Warscythe, and more blood was shed that day.

"Hahahaha, did that even DO anything to you, Obyron?" the royal Necron, Zahndrekh, chuckled. "Stupid plebeians…they dress well, with sleek armor I may add, but this is seriously pathetic! I've had more trouble with those blue-coated fools you associate with, to say nothing of those red ones you seem to hate oh so much!"

The eight remaining Iron Hands lifted their bolters and prepared to fire. In a split second, Obyron conveyed his own order to his Lychguard. Bolter fire immediately shot out; Obyron merely stepped back as his Lychguard raised their dispersion shields. Several bolter shots exploded on impact, doing little to no damage; several ricocheted off the shields to the side, exploding on the ground or in exposed rock.

The end result was all the same.

While not as much shots were reflected as Obyron had hoped, enough bolter shots were completely deflected back to the Iron Hands. Three of the eight died outright from their own bolter shots, and the rest sans one became stunned by the simple fact their bolters had their shots redirected at them.

"Firing tesla!" Zahndrekh shouted; the Lychguard stepped back as Zahndrekh then pressed his own series of buttons on the chariot. A cannon situated between the two minor Necron pilots charged up a blue electricity, and immediately fired. The five remaining Iron Hands had their entire bodies lit up by tesla; the lightning flew through their bodies easily, shocking them and cooking them alive. Two more died from this attack, while the other two became subject to spasms, leaving them convulsing on the ground until their bodies went limp; the last Iron Hand stood, with determination and hate burning in his eyes.

"Oh, so since YOU'RE the last one standing, I'm assuming you are this group's leader, hmm?" Zahndrekh taunted.

"Damn you…xeno scum," the Iron Hand spat out. "The Emperor will destroy you!"

"Oh, yes, I'm so sure your corpse king of golden lore will kill me," Zahndrekh sardonically stated. "I wonder how he'll do that? Maybe he'll die on me and fall forwards, and the resulting melodrama caused from his massive ego could suffocate me, yes?"

"DAMN YOU!" the Iron Hand screeched out. "THE EMPEROR PROTECTS US, AND **YOU** WILL PERISH!"

"Oh, calm down. I'm right here, I can hear you just fine," Zahndrekh chastised in a mocking and condescending tone. "Or do you think if you scream loud enough, your precious 'Emprah' will waltz on here to this fringe world just to give you a break?"

The Iron Hand could've screamed, but was never given a chance. Obyron's Warscythe struck sideways at the Iron Hand's chest level, severing him in two. The top half fell off immediately, landing facefirst in the blood of his brothers, while his lower half stumbled around for all of two seconds before falling.

"My Lord, just kill them instead of taunting them," Vargard Obyron flatly chastised. "Such an act is pointless."

"Obyron, he didn't answer my question," Zahndrekh reminded. "A plebian like him should answer to my authority when I am speaking directly to him! Opposition is utterly suicidal! The Necrontyr have faltered much more than I ever could have hoped…"

The stoic Vargard then felt a maddeningly familiar twinge in his body; the Vargard turned around to face Zahndrekh after the twitch had subsided. "My Lord, we were NOT fighting Necrontyr. The Necrontyr do not exist anymore."

"SILENCE THOSE WORDS WHICH YOU SPEAK!" Zahndrekh bellowed, overdramatically.

"_If I could feel emotion, I would groan right now," _Obyron stated to himself mentally.

"Obyron, these plebeians are foolish Necrontyr who oppose the unifying rule of us nobility!" Zahndrekh reminded, in a haughty, know-it-all tone of voice. "I am perplexed as to why they follow what I have heard is merely a skeleton on a throne, but rest assured: I will not have these heretics bringing danger and trouble to MY glorious Necrontyr army!"

"From what I can recall, they are known as Space Marines, my Lord," Obyron stated, although already knowing such a detail would not matter to Zahndrekh.

"Bleh, there are many of these 'Space Marines' existing out there, Obyron," Zahndrekh disappointedly sighed. "I just don't know what went wrong and where it went wrong, but I will find the leaders behind this crazy insurrection and prove myself as one of the true noble leaders of the Necrontyr!"

"You would be the first in your field to achieve such a title in a long while, my Lord," Obyron deadpanned. Zahndrekh, not picking up on the biting sarcasm, responded appropriately.

"Ah, that I would, Obyron, that I would. But we must first greet our new Necrontyr brothers from our newly-liberated Tomb World!" Zahndrekh cheerily announced. "Come, Obyron, we must make haste! I'd rather gain control now while there is hopefully some form of power vacuum and/or confusion occurring rather than having to wrestle the title out from under some stubborn Necrontyr Lord who insists his plans are better than the overall unity of the Necrontyr Empire!"

"My Lord, you need not add the prefix 'Necrontyr' to everything in which is Necron-related," Obyron mentioned, feeling some sort of semblance of annoyance. Zahndrekh merely crossed his arms and huffed loudly like an angered schoolgirl.

"I'll ignore that 'Necron' quip, but I'll tone it down a bit!" Zahndrekh growled. "As long as I don't end up in ANOTHER political scandal again. Seriously, last time I had to kill one of those opposing Lords over simple bureaucracy that he refused to acknowledge, I ended up discovered by our Warriors! Oh, Obyron, it was awful!"

Zahndrekh raised his hand above his head, almost swooning. "I couldn't bear the humiliation, Obyron! The Warriors saw everything, and I mean EVERYTHING! They wouldn't speak to me for DAYS!"

"I am aware of your plight, my Lord," Obyron plainly stated. "I was there."

"Ah yes, I remember now!" Zahndrekh gasped in realization. "You appeared after I had tackled the Lord! Always willing to be by your lord's side when he is in trouble…this is why I respect you as a true equal, Obyron! Although not as equal as me of course, but still pretty damn equal."

"Equality is in the eye of the beholder, my Lord," Obyron deadpanned again.

"Ah, I see what you did there, Obyron!" Zahndrekh laughed. "Good joke, my friend, good joke. We'll need your dry wit to break the ice down with our new soldiers down underground!"

With that stated, Zahndrekh disembarked from his flying chariot, standing tall with all his glory. Zahndrekh then turned towards Obyron's Lychguard group, motioning towards his chariot. "LYCHGUARD! Take my Catacomb Command Barge and inspect for any defects! I want it fully operational by the time this political meeting ends, in case more of those idiotic plebeians show up!"

The Lychguard, without a word spoken, went and began attending to the Catacomb Command Barge alongside its two pilots. Obyron, shaking his head, turned back to Zahndrekh. "My Lord, the pilots of your Barge oversee all of its faults in order to improve it," Obyron futilely tried to explain. "You do not need the Lychguard to-"

"The pilots may miss something," Zahndrekh interrupted, with his tone completely serious. Obyron merely stared at his master, nearly dumbfounded.

"Why would a group of elite bodyguards, whose sole purpose is to fight and defend the most important heads of the Necrons, know how to fix a Command Barge that is not even remotely related to what they were programmed to do?" Obyron questioned aloud. _"Knowing you, Zahndrekh, the answer is probably…"_

"First off, Obyron, its NECRONTYR. Not Necrons. Seriously, you need to get that verbal tic of yours removed through some way, shape, or form," Zahndrekh grunted. "Have you tried therapy?"

"Believe me, my Lord, I have," Obyron answered back.

"Secondly, the Lychguard may not have the same training, but they could probably use their soldiers' eyes to see faults pilots might not be able to see!" Zahndrekh explained. "Think about it! Pilots are used to their own planes, and what they perceive as unimportant could be a force that can negate their ability to work well in the future! Down to earth soldiers would be able to find something wrong if they looked hard enough with an untrained eye, Obyron."

"You can take my word for it that I am able to agree with that statement, my Lord," Obyron growled. _"Although in your case, no one needs trained eyes to see something is horribly wrong."_

"Oh, don't take such a hostile tone to me, Obyron!" Zahndrekh snapped back. "I am perfectly aware that my logic is sound here. If you are annoyed by my explanations, then perhaps you should stop asking me."

"I do try so hard to stop asking, my Lord," Obyron muttered. "It just never seems to stick."

"Well, all you need to trust in me, my faithful Vargard," Zahndrekh responded, almost in a 'so-proud-of-you' tone reserved for a father giving their child praise. "Tell you what, after this is over, why don't you and I throw a party? For the new Tomb World guests! We can have cake and ice cream and-OOH! Maybe if they have enough bluxion, we can create my famous Mush of Drazak flambé!"

A moment of silence permeated the land as Obyron comprehended the sheer stupidity, followed by the complete seriousness Zahndrekh had expressed. After a couple seconds, Obyron spoke up once more. "I would rather attribute 'infamous' to that statement, my Lord."

"I wasn't aware it would have attracted those ravenous 'Flayed One' Necrontyr that apparently everyone hates nowadays," Zahndrekh explained. "Still, you have to admit: feed those guys some Mush, and they follow you loyally! It must be because they recognize my status and power as both a leader of the Necrontyr and of an expert chef in my own craft!"

"_I would attribute it to the fact you used corpses and Tyranid blood in your baking. Scratch that, 'baking' is too general a word to describe the horrifically vile abomination you created that day. Even 'eldritch summoning' is too general, Zahndrekh," _Obyron chastised mentally. Zahndrekh simply turned around and started marching towards the entrance of the Tomb World.

"Oh, and one last detail: Necrontyr aren't 'programmed.' When the greetings are over, I'll schedule a meeting with a therapist within this new Tomb World for you. Now, come Obyron!" Zahndrekh stated, before raising his voice. "AND TO THOSE NECRONTYR WHO STILL BREATH ON THE FIELDS OF BATTLE! MEET ME WITHIN YOUR TOMB WORLD, FOR YOUR NEW OVERLORD HAS ARRIVED!"

With that boast complete, Zahndrekh retreated into the Tomb World, with several remaining Necron Warriors and Immortals following now that the battle has concluded. Obyron merely stood outside, before releasing what could only be described as an annoyed groan; heading inside, Obyron shook his own head, wondering what went wrong regarding Zahndrekh.

* * *

_I have witnessed the continual destruction of the Necrontyr people when I was young and ignorant to this cynical universe._

_I witnessed the Silent King accepting the offers of the C'Tan, and I was a part of the War in Heaven._

_I was instrumental in assisting the Silent King in shattering the traitorous C'Tan for their role in damning our race within these machine bodies._

_I was besides Zahndrekh before the Great Sleep took us to this era._

_My name is Vargard Obyron._

_And I can say, with all seriousness and certainty…_

_…Nemesor Zahndrekh has no fucking idea what he's doing._

* * *

**And that's the first chapter complete! I plan to make this story up as I go along, although I do have some faint ideas at the moment.**

**I also am going to try to make each reference as close as possible to actual Warhammer 40,000 canon (circa sixth edition). For example, the descriptions for the Ogdobekh Dynasty Lychguard are pretty close to what I've seen in the Necron Codex I own, but I am not one-hundred-percent sure the Ogdobekh Dynasty is completely loyal to Zahndrekh and Obyron.**

**I also am not too familiar with most of the Space Marines (not even the famous Ultramarines or Blood Ravens), so I'll do my best to try and make any events involving the Marines as close to their canon portrayal as possible.**

**I should also put down some "chapter facts" or something here, just in case anyone wants some trivia for fun. In this case, I randomly chose the Iron Hands as the group the Necrons were fighting, right before I found out that apparently the Iron Hands and Necrons draw some parallels to each other.**

**Oh, and Obyron's appearance with the Lychguard by Zahndrekh's side was going to be different, but I'm gonna save that one for another chapter. Trust me, you'll know when it happens…**

**Anyways, see you next time, and I'll try not to have these lengthy Author's Notes from here on out. INFERNOX out!**


	2. Prologue: A Nemesor's Greeting

**Since I neglected to do so last chapter, allow me to state this now: I don't own Warhammer 40,000. Or the Necrons. Or Nemesor Zahndrekh and Vargard Obyron. I don't even own the Iron Hands. I don't even HAVE Iron Hands! Or Iron Arm for that matter. Curse you, Tyranids…ahem. All of that is owned by Games Workshop. I only really own the personalities of the OC's.**

**No wait, don't leave! These OC's aren't OP! I promise! Here, cookie if you read!**

**Now, back to Zahndrekh's grimdark (?) misadventures.**

* * *

Darkened halls lit the corridor leading towards the Tomb World's core, with the only light source being the pulsing green energy flowing through the crisscrossing tubes attached to the walls, floor, and ceiling (aside from each Necrons' individual sensory lights from where their eyes once were). Nemesor Zahndrekh's metal footsteps clanged on the floor as he marched down the corridor, with Vargard Obyron tailing right behind alongside the Tomb World's resident Warriors and Necron Immortals that survived the Iron Hands's assault. Nemesor Zahndrekh, while curious of this Tomb World and its inhabitants, still felt a twinge of nervousness as he strode down the corridors.

"…Obyron," Zahndrekh began. "Do you sense…anything yet?"

"No, my Lord, I do not sense any Canoptek Wraiths," Obyron reassured in his usual, flat, robotic tone of voice. "However, the Canoptek Spyders are aware of our incursion. Most likely they are watching us at this moment to make sure we are true Necron instead of a lesser species trying to-"

"NECRONTYR," Zahndrekh bellowed, his voice traveling down the hall ahead of him. "It's not Necron, Obyron! …heh, Necron, Obyron. It rhymes, Obyron, and I am now amused by this. Perhaps your insanity is useful on occasion."

Vargard Obyron felt the familiar twitch once more, before responding. "My lord, I highly doubt I am insane," Obyron stated. "_I highly doubt I am the insane one here, as well._"

"Oh, how rude of me," Zahndrekh apologized. "I really should be more tolerant of your verbal problem. Ah well, it may have been several dozens of years already since we have woken up from the Great Sleep, but I'm sure your verbal flaw is only because we've taken a millennia-spanning nap."

"…yes, MY verbal flaw," Obyron faintly muttered.

"Oh, Obyron, I see the antechamber!" Zahndrekh giddily informed. "I do hope we get a friendly Lord to greet us this time! Last time was painful, right Obyr-?"

"We just went over this, my Lord," Obyron reminded. "It's been only fifteen minutes and thirty four and one-quarter seconds since we discussed this last."

"…how do you know quarter-seconds, Obyron?" Zahndrekh questioned. "Have you been taking temporal lessons of some sort from Orikan the Diviner?"

"No, my Lord," Obyron stated. "I have a timer built into my necrodermis."

"You have a timer in your what?" Zahndrekh gaped. "Sounds painful."

Vargard Obyron merely sighed at this out of annoyance, realizing he should've just agreed to Zahndrekh's false claims. "_Then again, he'd probably question me on when I've had the time to study the temporal streams,_" Obyron realized mentally. A half-minute ticked by before Zahndrekh, Obyron, and the rest of the following Necrons entered the antechamber of the new Tomb World.

"…we have arrived, my Lord," Obyron stated, trying to be as frank as possible to avoid another of Zahndrekh's irritatingly random tangents.

Zahndrekh looked around in wonder at the Tomb World, happy to see a familiar backdrop once more. The Canoptek Spyders –large black automations looking very similar to a robotic spider – scurried on the ceiling, their tiny, almost similar-looking Canoptek Scarab offspring single-mindedly following them. Necron Warriors and Immortals sat in rectangular "rooms" of a sort, deactivated and still within the confines of the Great Sleep. Already-awakened Warriors and Immortals roamed the grounds, fidgeting as they remember exactly how to walk and how to see. Zahndrekh chuckled upon seeing the Warriors stumble and fall, only for Immortals to do the same thing seconds afterwards, regardless if the latter were assisting or antagonizing the former.

"Ah, Obyron, look upon the inferior as they stumble about, like a baby out of its mother's womb," Zahndrekh chuckled. "Reminds me of when I first saw my own daughter."

"Are you perhaps referring to the 'sentimentality' that comes with being the father of a child?" Obyron sarcastically asked.

"Actually, I'm reminiscing over how she kept falling down stairs," Zahndrekh sighed, dissonantly happy with that memory. "That memory reminds me of this situation, Obyron. But not because of an old Necrontyr's sentimentality. That shit was funny."

While Obyron stared in what could be interpreted as minor shock, Zahndrekh started bellowing out laughter rivaled only by a heartily drunk Space Wolf. "Look at them stumble, Obyron! They are all like my child! And I shall make them ALL my children!"

"I shall inform Child Services once we have announced our presence, my Lord," Obyron sarcastically muttered. To Obyron's relief, Zahndrekh had not heard the criticizing quip in favor of dramatically walking up to the nearest guard rail. Once at said nearest guardrail, Zahndrekh took in a deep breath.

"…_such an action is pointless, but I doubt Zahndrekh would even notice,_" Obyron mentally chastised.

"FELLOW NECRONTYR!" Zahndrekh began. "LEND ME YOUR ATTENTION, MY CHILDREN, FOR YOUR NEW OVERLORD HAS ARRIVED!"

* * *

The Necron Warriors and Immortals of the area, previously unaware, now turned and stared at Nemesor Zahndrekh, unaware of how he was there, who he was, or what he was there for. However, while the numerous Warriors and Immortals stared upwards at the Nemesor, two regal Necrons stood high within one of the many rectangular rooms the Necrons "slept" within. The first of the two regal Necrons was obviously someone of high status, as the Necrons' body was not only similar to shape to Nemesor Zahndrekh's, but many decorative symbols were adorned on its body and its free-flowing, regal cape. The second royal Necron, while obviously a noble, did not have the same sort of gaudy get-up, however; his body was similar to a Necron Immortal at best, although it did wear a smaller, more subdued version of the first Necron's royal cape. Standing upon the edge, the higher Necron royal let loose what the lesser Necron royal could only note as a groan of irritation.

"…I did not expect a fool in a metal husk to arrive, let alone assert power over my domain," the higher Necron royal groaned.

"How did a Necron so flawed and broken in its design gain the title of a Nemesor, though?" the lower Necron royal stated, pointing at the bombastic Nemesor Zahndrekh as he did so. "This Necron wears the headgear of a Nemesor, and the cloak is unmistakable."

"The cloak is unmistakable, but the body wearing it is a mistake," the higher Necron royal growled. "To even assert Overlordship before deferring to the current Overlord…I care not if he is a Nemesor of another dynasty. This Tomb World is MY Tomb World."

"You DID rightfully defeat the other Overlords," the lower Necron royal reminded. "Shall I prepare the Deathmarks?"

"Yes. And get more than usual. The bodyguard may be a problem, and a Nemesor will ALWAYS have a trick or two up its sleeve," the higher Necron royal warned. "Be prepared to unleash the Canoptek Wraiths if needed."

"Understood, Overlord Nihilvokh," the lesser Necron royal stated; the lesser Necron royal turned to his left, approaching a holopad set on the wall of the room. A swift swipe of his metal claw of a hand, followed by a couple seconds of near-silent typing, brought up a holoscreen showing the head of a Deathmark: a mere metal skull like a Warrior or Immortal with only one centered eye on their skull, with a metallic helmet of sorts covering the backs of their heads, outlining their unnatural design.

"Lord Ghedis, what are your orders?" the Deathmark plainly questioned. The lesser Necron royal, Lord Ghedis, turned back to the higher-ranked Overlord Nihilvokh before answering; the Overlord stared down the unaware Nemesor Zahndrekh with a burning vitriol usually reserved for the Eldar.

"Do it," Nihilvokh reminded. Ghedis nodded, before turning back to the ever-patient Deathmark.

"Gather all available Deathmarks. Find a good place to get a view of our new "overlords," and disintegrate them," Ghedis ordered. The Deathmark nodded, and the holoscreen was cut. Ghedis returned to Nihilvokh's side, staring down at Nemesor Zahndrekh and Vargard Obyron with a similar-yet-less-potent hatred compared to his master.

* * *

Yet neither Ghedis's nor Nihilvokh's collective hatreds could match Vargard Obyron's intense glare towards Nemesor Zahndrekh at this point.

"YOU WILL ALL ENJOY FEASTS! FEASTS OF FISH! TOASTED IN WOODEN OVENS OF OLD, SERVED WITH THE FRESH DIPPING SAUCE OF ELDAR BLOOD! Or marinara sauce, for those who are squeamish," Zahndrekh continued to bellow; the Necrons watching simply stared, mostly confused, appalled, and morbidly curious. "MY CHILDREN, TODAY YOU FIGHT FOR A UNITED DYNASTY! ONE THAT WILL EXTERMINATE THE SEPERATIST LEGIONS AND USE THEIR BLOOD AS FOOD FOR YOUR PET FLAYED ONES! …those things are pets, right? Obyron, are they pets?"

"My Lord, those…things aren't supposed to exist!" Obyron growled, almost feeling hatred in the fraction of the sliver of the piece of his soul that remained. "The Flayed Ones are infectious, disgusting abominations that should be slaughtered! They are an embarrassment to the Necron race!"

Nemesor Zahndrekh merely stared at Obyron with what seemed to be a mix of annoyance and disappointment. Obyron stared back, slowly realizing what Zahndrekh was about to chastise him on.

"…my Lord…they are an embarrassment…to the NECRONTYR…race…" Obyron spat out, nearly shaking from the echoes of anger that resonated in his metal body. Zahndrekh smiled once more, before turning to the masses again.

"JOIN ME, AND THE GALAXY WILL BE OURS LIKE THE DAYS OF OLD!" Zahndrekh continued, flailing his arms boisterously, sending out body language signals that not even the most advanced Necron Immortal could pick up on its radar.

* * *

Ten Deathmarks – with bodies reminiscent of Necron Immortals, and a glowing green eye centered on all ten of them – gathered above the tops of the rectangular Necron sleeping chambers. Each one carried a synaptic disintegrator in their hands; it looked like a long barreled sniper rifle, similar in design to a rocket launcher, with a smaller hole for more precise shots. The Deathmarks got down on their chestpieces and looked over the edge; Obyron was not looking at them immediately, although the ten of them knew Obyron could see them in his peripheral vision, if he so chose. The ten Deathmarks raised their synaptic disintegrators, all aimed right at Zahndrekh's head.

Across from them, on the tops of the buildings where Nihilvokh and Ghedis watched Zahndrekh and Obyron, another group of ten Deathmarks set up. The second set of Deathmarks then turned to the last set it could see: a group of the final five Deathmarks, all crack shots in their own right, got into position behind a pylon-like structure. All twenty-five Deathmarks, now in place, lined up shots at Zahndrekh, still gleefully unaware of the strength about to rain down upon him.

* * *

"SO, WHAT SAY YOU, MY NECRONTYR BROTHERS!? SHALL YOU JOIN ME!?" Zahndrekh bellowed out one last time, ending his bombastic speech. A thick silence filled the antechamber, with Obyron hopelessly waiting for Zahndrekh to realize that Warriors had no ability to speak, and Immortals were generally silent as well.

Obyron then heard the loud cracks and electrical whizzing associated with Necron weaponry being fired.

Obyron looked on in shock as Zahndrekh was hit with many synaptic disintegrator shots; while Obyron noted five had missed, a stunning twenty of the twenty-five shots Obyron had seen been fired hit Zahndrekh. Several pierced his body, other bounces off, and the rest singed his metallic body. Zahndrekh took several steps back, obviously in shock; the Necron Warriors and Immortals merely looked on towards Zahndrekh, unfazed by the assassination attempt. Zahndrekh immediately looked up, looking angry beyond all belief, as the burns on his armor started to fade and the several holes through his body began to re-knit themselves.

"Oh, so THAT'S how it is huh?" Zahndrekh growled, very angry. Reaching on his back, Zahndrekh pulled out a large staff, with its only unique feature being three metallic prongs poking bluntly outwards at the top of the staff on both its sides. Obyron then pulled out his Warscythe as well, determined to execute the assassins post-haste. "Obyron, what did you see?"

"Twenty-five shots, my Lord," Obyron stated.

"Where?" Zahndrekh asked hastily.

"Five in front, ten on the upper-left building, ten on the upper-right building," Obyron stated.

"Kill them. Capture the leader or leaders."

"Understood."

With that, Obyron melted into shadow, disappearing entirely from behind Nemesor Zahndrekh. The angered Nemesor looked forwards at the five Deathmarks that had shot at him; he saw them getting prepared to fire once more.

"My turn," the Nemesor insanely chuckled. Immediately, Nemesor Zahndrekh charged forwards towards the path of least resistance, aiming to kill the Deathmarks who dare scratch his skin (armor, really, but insanity overrides truth here). However, while Zahndrekh pushed the stoic and otherwise neutral Warriors and Immortals out of the way…

* * *

…Overlord Nihilvokh and Ghedis looked down upon Zahndrekh, unsurprised at this outcome. Ghedis tapped on the left side of his head twice, before speaking quietly into his left claw of a hand.

"Deathmarks, get the Nemesor now," Ghedis ordered. "Keep him pinned; the Wraiths will locate and make necrodermis mincemeat of his bodyguard."

"Understood," one Deathmark acknowledged from the internal headset of sorts, before the connection was lost. Nihilvokh looked onwards at Zahndrekh with stoic determination, his glare a burning stare of hatred.

"Ghedis," Nihilvokh growled. "Find information on that fool Nemesor who dares oppose me."

"Understood," Ghedis acknowledged; the Necron Lord turned his back to the temporary entertainment, headed towards an arched exit on the back wall of the room. Overlord Nihilvokh continued looking down upon the disturbance, muttering unintelligible slurs and insults to himself.

* * *

The five Deathmarks popped out from behind their cover, aiming their synaptic disintegrators right at the charging Nemesor Zahndrekh. Unfortunately for them, Zahndrekh won the quick draw of weapons; three bolts of white electricity connected with three targets easily, killing each Deathmark outright. The Deathmarks then fired haphazardly at the Nemesor, missing both of their shots out of the surprise of losing three guns in one go. The Nemesor quickly shot at the two remaining Deathmarks, knocking them over while Zahndrekh turned to focus on the other three Deathmarks. He noted off the bat one had died outright, but the other was attempting to reassemble itself. Nemesor Zahndrekh gleefully smirked at this woeful attempt at a second chance.

"You rebellious fool," Zahndrekh darkly chuckled. "You try to fix what has wounded you, but I know your weak point!"

Before the Deathmark could completely repair the damage already inflicted on him, Nemesor Zahndrekh raised his right leg and brought his full weight down upon the Deathmark's skull. Once. Twice. Three times, with the casing of the Deathmark cracking each time.

Zahndrekh then brought his foot down one final time, completely crushing the Deathmark's skull, leaving a mess of broken necrodermis lying on the ground. Zahndrekh quickly took his staff and aimed it at the wound he had inflicted, before jamming most of the staff into the Deathmark; Zahndrekh let loose a boisterous laugh as he then fired his three electrical shots out of his staff, completely frying the Deathmark's insides, leaving the entire body unusable. With a potent stride, Zahndrekh turned around and victoriously raised his staff.

* * *

The ten Deathmarks residing on the rooftop opposite of Overlord Nihilvokh took aim at Zahndrekh, having lined up each of their shots perfectly in order to completely wipe out Zahndrekh. Through their synaptic disintegrator's sights, they saw Zahndrekh stand up tall, laughing and gloating about his power. The ten Deathmarks put their fingers on the triggers, and-

Seven Deathmarks fell forward immediately, each of them perfectly severed between their legs and upper body, to all of their surprise. The three Deathmarks turned around to face their combatant, only to be quickly kicked off the side of the building by Vargard Obyron. Looking down to the seven Deathmarks, he saw that only two were actually dead: the other five were attempting reanimation. Vargard Obyron brought his scythe down upon two of the reanimating Deathmarks, letting gravity take their heads down to the masses of emerging Warriors and Immortals below. The Vargard prepared himself to strike down another Deathmark, before catching wind of a small wall of green energy flying straight at him. The Vargard jumped back, barely missing the wall of energy, and saw the other ten Deathmarks taking aim at him once more.

More importantly, the Vargard also saw Nihilvokh; the two exchanged glances, with the Overlord glaring at him out of anger, and the Vargard returning a gaze of annoyance and potential boredom.

"_The shadows make it hard to tell, but that Necron fits the poise and stature of a Necron Overlord,_" Obyron quickly deduced. "_A planned attack…interesting._"

The Vargard witnessed another wall of green coming right for him; with momentum on his side, the Vargard charged forward to the three reassembled and standing Deathmarks he was dueling with earlier. One Deathmark shot out at the Vargard hastily, connecting the shot with Obyron's armor but failing to do anything beyond superficial damage; Obyron then swung his Warscythe, butchering the three Deathmarks with enough force to send both their severed upper bodies and their legs down to the streets below. Turning back to the second wave of Deathmarks, the Vargard again saw a wave of green approaching him.

If the Vargard could, he would've smirked at that moment.

* * *

While the Vargard was busy slaughtering the Deathmarks above, the Nemesor raised his own voice so it could carry itself across the swathes of Warriors and Immortals that have now gathered.

"LOOK UPON MY NOBLE VISAGE, MY NECRONTYR BROTHERS!" Nemesor Zahndrekh shouted. "YOU HAVE SLEPT FOR SO LONG, AND YOU AWAKE TO INCOMPETENT RULERS! NO MORE!"

The Necron Warriors and Immortals, as well as the ever-angry Overlord Nihilvokh, looked upon Zahndrekh; Nihilvokh and a couple Necrons, however, averted their eyes and attention upon seeing three Deathmarks fall to their deaths.

"FOR TOO LONG HAVE WE BEEN THE PLAYTHINGS OF THE GREATER FORCES OF THE GALAXY!" Nemesor Zahndrekh boasted. "AND FOR TOO LONG, WE HAVE TOILED IN A NEAR ENDLESS AND DREAMLESS SLUMBER! INSANITY GROPES AT OUR MINDS, WAITING TO BE FURTHERED BY THE INEPTITUDE OF DESPOT NOBLES WHOM HAVE NOTHING BUT CARDS TO BACK UP THEIR GAME!"

Overlord Nihilvokh's glare intensified upon hearing those words, especially considering the hypocrisy of them due to the charge against nobles being spoken from the mouth of a noble. Looking back to the slaughtered Deathmarks, the Overlord caught the eyes of the Nemesor's silent bodyguard; Nihilvokh fervently stared at Obyron, his hatred obvious and plentiful.

"_So the bodyguard is eliminating my forces while his master gloats? Who does this fool think he is?_" Nihilvokh chastised mentally. Fortunately for Nihilvokh, his anger dissipated into black humor whenever he saw Obyron dodge another wave of green energies; three more of his Deathmarks fell to the crowd of confused Warriors and Immortals below, followed by a second wave of green energy charging straight to Obyron's position. Nihilvokh contorted his metallic face to as close a smirk as he could've possibly managed.

As soon as the wave of energy passed, Obyron was gone. Nihilvokh chuckled to himself, his pride returning. A clank of metallic footsteps fell behind him.

"Ghedis, inform my Royal Court that we have one less problem," Nihilvokh ordered. "Now, what information on that foolish Nemesor did you find?"

"Well, I can agree with you that he IS a bona fide fool…"

Nihilvokh stood up rigidly, his sensors picking up two important changes in his environment. One: that voice was NOT Ghedis's; to other species, Necron vocals would sound the same, but each Necron could easily pick up small changes in tone emitted from the unique vocal receptors installed in Necron nobility for purposes of identification.

And two: he currently had the broad side of a Warscythe sticking cleanly through his torso.

"…but he is a fool with powerful subordinates," Obyron quipped, his voice lacking the smugness and poison commonly associated with assassins successful in witnessing their target's last moments. Obyron let go of his Warscythe and quickly spun Nihilvokh's body around to face his attacker; to prevent the Overlord from falling, Obyron grabbed Nihilvokh's chestplate and held it tightly between his metallic fingers.

"Who…how…?" Nihilvokh sputtered.

"_How cliché,_" Obyron mentally chastised. "I need only speak two words for you to understand who it is you tried to assassinate."

"…foolish…little…" Nihilvokh growled, gaining back some semblance of strength while his necrodermis began repairing his wound.

"Nemesor. Zahndrekh."

In one moment, Nihilvokh went utterly stiff as both the name and realization hit him: he had just tried to assassinate the esteemed Nemesor Zahndrekh. In a second moment, Nihilvokh realized Zahndrekh's cold and impersonal bodyguard, Vargard Obyron, was the Necron standing before him.

In a third moment, Nihilvokh couldn't even voice his false apologies; Obyron spun him around again and forcefully removed the Warscythe, before beheading the opposing Overlord, cutting off his extremities, slicing his torso into pieces, and crushing the skull under his boot.

It took only three seconds and one stomp to quell the head of this threat. Obyron chuckled to himself, his chuckle empty like the void of space itself. A flurry of metallic steps behind him alerted him to a new presence; Obyron turned around, coming face-to-face with a Necron Lord holding a datapad of sorts. The Lord looked at Obyron, then at the remains of Nihilvokh, before sighing.

"My name is Lord Ghedis," Ghedis began.

"That's nice," Obyron deadpanned.

"I just found out that's Nemesor Zahndrekh down there after talking with the Harbingers of Eternity within the Royal Catacombs," Ghedis sighed. "I don't trust them with battle plans, but with individuals and their respective identities, I take their words at face value."

"Really?" Obyron sarcastically responded.

"Since Overlord Nihilvokh is dead, that makes you the fifth Necron noble I'm theoretically going to serve under," Ghedis stated; this piqued Obyron's interested in the slightest of ways.

"Theoretically? I care not for your previous employers, but what gives you the idea Zahndrekh would ever want some traitorous scum like you on his Royal Court?" Obyron accused. "If I didn't know any better, I'd accuse you of being a descendant of the Nekthyst Dynasty."

Ghedis's stance changed ever so slightly, obviously stiffening up at that pseudo-accusation. "Nekthysts are traitors. Mercenaries. Boot-licking BITCHES," Ghedis grunted, using what little organic emotion stored within his core to emphasize his point. "I am proud to have been from the Oruscar Dynasty, but I am not proud enough to foolishly defy my superiors. I am a Necron LORD for a reason."

"Because you're weak?" Obyron mocked. To his surprise, Ghedis let his guard down.

"Yes," Ghedis stated bluntly. "I tried vying for Overlordship on my initial awakening. Overlord Byrinkarr – my first 'employer' – put me in my place. As did Overlord Rauzmah. I learned my lesson the second time. And considering you and Nemesor Zahndrekh are members of the Sautekh Dynasty…I'd rather not commit suicide opposing you."

"…you have a brain," Obyron stated; a small realization then came to mind. "…you're the real leader behind this Tomb World, aren't you?"

A brief moment of silence took hold of the conversation. Ghedis looked Obyron in his optics, before nodding, never once looking away. "The Overlords here are brain dead insane. Nihilvokh…or what remains of him…was undisputedly the smartest of the four I've served under," Ghedis explained. "I've dealt with their documents, their battle plans for opposition, and all the other menial tasks that couldn't be shifted off to some two-bit Warrior who happened to be in the room."

Vargard Obyron kept silent as he analyzed Lord Ghedis, sensing a near-invisible signal being sent from Ghedis's metallic skull. "_Sending a signal for backup, eh?_" Obyron stated to himself as he silently began tracking the signal and deciphering it. "_…no…no wait. You're only calling off the Deathmarks above us? …hmm…that's actually smart of you to do such a thing…hmm. You could be of use. You haven't deceived me thus far. You've shown only primordial fear. And logic. …logic._"

"I'm not going to fight either you or Zahndrekh," Ghedis stated. "I also have called off Nihilvokh's backup attack on…well, you."

"There was a backup?" Obyron asked, honestly surprised. "I didn't think this air-headed hunk of junk could plan a contingency."

"In all honestly, it was only six Canoptek Wraiths," Ghedis revealed, almost bitter in how he delivered the information. "Those things are a force to be reckoned with, especially when facing a full squad, but they are bugs compared to Necron royalty."

"…I'm taking you to the Nemesor," Obyron ordered. "Quickest way is for me to use my Ghostwalk Mantle. Stand next to me. Now."

"Alright. I won't question you," Ghedis obeyed, walking next to the large and imposing Vargard quickly. Obyron quickly tapped the back of his right hand twice with two fingers; in a split second, both surviving Necrons vanished into thin air. Nihilvokh's battered and destroyed corpse remained lying on the ground; one of the arms twitched once, then fell inactive for eternity.

* * *

"…NEED NOT WORRY ABOUT SUFFRAGE MY FELLOW NECRONTYR!" Zahndrekh boasted; Obyron quickly made out his master's voice as he reappeared behind the Nemesor mid-speech. "I TREAT ALL NECRONTYR OF ALL GENDERS EQUALLY! BUT I STILL OUTRANK YOU!"

Zahndrekh's voice quickly went from loud, slow, and boasting to normal, fast, and detailed in but an instant. "Finer details of the chains of command shall and will be explained to those qualified to hear the full explanation; otherwise, I will purposefully keep you in the dark so you can fear the unknown, which will allow me to control you more so I don't activate some sort of contingency you think I have planned for you," Zahndrekh plainly stated, confusing the already-weirded-out Necron crowd even more.

"…my Lord, are you pretending you're advertising something?" Obyron incredulously asked. Ghedis could only stare in shock and confusion to agree with Obyron's previous statement, fully realizing who he was in the presence of at this moment. The Nemesor quickly turned around, and – after quickly eyeballing Ghedis – he turned towards Obyron.

"Obyron, I am advertising my regime to these civilians," Zahndrekh corrected. "They do have a choice after all. Stay here and die or come with me and die later for a better cause."

"I hardly think that is a good selling point, my Lord," Obyron deadpanned.

"Well, it's an offer they can't really refuse, can they?" Zahndrekh responded, a smirk evident on his robotic face. Turning back to the crowd, Zahndrekh's voice was raised one last time.

"NOW, AS I HAVE SAID BEFORE I WAS RUDELY INTERRUPTED BY POTSHOT REBELS, WILL YOU JOIN ME!?" Zahndrekh bellowed. The Necron crowd fell silent, all of them silently debating amongst their own minds on whether to join Zahndrekh or stay loyal to the (unknown to them) deceased Nihilvokh. Several silent seconds scurried on by, before Ghedis walked forth to Zahndrekh's side.

"THE OVERLORD IS DEAD!" Ghedis yelled. "NIHILVOKH IS NO MORE!"

The Necron Warriors and Immortals looked to each other, confused no longer. Each Necron then rose their weaponry, vocalizing a dull chant of approval towards Zahndrekh. Zahndrekh laughed silently to himself, before turning to Obyron and Ghedis.

"I take it you stopped the ringleader of this little diversion then? Good show, Obyron!" Zahndrekh congratulated.

"It was of no issue, my Lord," Obyron stated, graciously accepting the praise.

"I believe you deserve a reward Obyron! FISH! Yes, it shall be delicious," Zahndrekh chuckled to himself; Obyron stared once more at Zahndrekh, his mind blank at the re-realization of Zahndrekh's insanity.

"Now, I'd LOVE to chat with whichever captive you brought me today, Obyron, but I am most famished from our excursion!" Zahndrekh stated, much to Obyron's and Ghedis's shock. "LESSER NOBLE! Take me to your Royal Court so I may procure an idea of where the nearest eatery is established! Unless you are the only noble…?"

"Uh, no, there are others! This way, please, to the Royal Catacombs!" Ghedis meekly obliged, wanting to simply get Zahndrekh so he wants so he'll shut up. Zahndrekh followed innocently, rubbing his hands together and throwing his arms every which way in random, spastic throes of attempted evil laughter.

"…why…?" Obyron moaned under his breath; the Vargard skulked off after the Nemesor, realizing he simply just wanted to get drunk and forget this entire experience.

Then he realized he was a Necron and therefore couldn't get drunk ever again.

Needless to say, Obyron was sad.

* * *

**Well, THAT took longer than expected to write. I was gonna add an extra scene to end this chapter here, but I figured I can hold that one off until the next chapter. Since this is kinda an opening arc for characterization and everything.**

**While I do have the Necron Codex available, I'm going to possibly make mistakes in the future regarding Necron interactions with other species (since each codex is supposed to have biased fluff towards the race the codex is describing, right?) so if there's an inconsistency, I'd appreciate it being pointed out.**

**Finally, a bit of pointless trivia for here: when I started writing this chapter, I was playfully cursing the Tyranids since my best friend uses them effectively. I uploaded this today, a while after winning a battle against said Tyranids. But I will mention I forgot Canoptek Wraiths do NOT have Reanimation Protocols, so the legitimacy of the battle is dubious at best. (sheepish shrug)**

**Anyways, I'll try to update sooner instead of playing Xbox Live until 4 in the morning on weekends. INFERNOX out!**

**...**

**Oh, and here's your cookie. I keep my word.**


	3. Prologue: Royal Formalities

**All right, let's get started with the next chapter already! Don't worry: this is the last of the **_**Prologue**_** arc chapters, so the real plot…that I make up as I go along…will start soon. I mean, this'll still be important. I think.**

**So yeah. Games Workshop owns everything in this setting. I only own the personalities of the OC's, such as Lord Ghedis. And no, he is not related to Pokémon's Ghetsis, despite his name taking inspiration from that source.**

* * *

Metallic spires rose up to the ceiling of the Tomb World, with a dull green glow flowing through circuitry embedded within the spires. Many Canoptek Scarabs scurried about the spires, surrounding the larger Canoptek Spyder creature; the creatures flowed in a chaotic harmony on the ceiling and surfaces of the spires, giving the organic illusion of a flowing ceiling signaling a passage into a different plane of existence.

The dully glowing spires connected the flowing ceiling to a spatially-confusing mass of metal; metallic balconies and passageways jutted out of the structure at many different angles, some of them seemingly impossible to witness in reality. Metallic pathways crossed with one another, seemingly going through one another while going over or under the opposing passageway. Tiny tubes around the size of a basketball jutted out like a bad growth of kudzu, with a strange gray liquid oozing out of some of the tubes. Groups of Lychguard entered the building through a simple, dull yellow entryway at the front of the structure, before immediately appearing out of a bright purple gate near the ceiling; others walked out of dark gray openings in the wall, a dark red passageway with nearly vertical angles, or simply disappearing within the structure. With the dull green circuitry illuminating the outside of the strange building, the unique and eye-crossing angles, the strange assortment of colors by the entrances and exits, and the flowing ceiling, the structure easily could be identified by organics as an eldritch castle of unknown horrors.

"Obyron, I do believe that is the Royal Court of this Tomb World," Zahndrekh stated.

"…obviously," Obyron deadpanned. Zahndrekh quickly cut Obyron a stern glare, or at least as stern as a Necron's robotic face could muster.

"Don't patronize me, Obyron," Zahndrekh growled. "You DO remember the last Tomb World we went to had similar structures like this everywhere, yet they were all merely apartment buildings!?"

"The rest of the Royal Court is inside, Lord Zahndrekh," Ghedis meekly stated, hoping to cut off Zahndrekh's tangent before it could go even more out of left field. Ghedis and Obyron quickly marched forward, heading towards the yellow gate the groups of Lychguard had entered moments before. Zahndrekh stood behind the two, nonplussed at Obyron's utter disregard for authority.

"OBYRON! You are NOT allowed to disrespect my higher authority!" Zahndrekh loudly reminded. "And for YOUR information, my dear Vargard: the last world's Royal Court was about as elegant as an OUTHOUSE!"

While Ghedis marched forward silently, Obyron stopped and turned his upper body around; if he had facial features, a look of dull annoyance would be staring right at Zahndrekh.

"My Lord, it WAS an outhouse," Obyron stated. "An outhouse that led to Overlord Nyratep's personal court beneath the main chamber. I believe you were too busy admonishing a Lychguard for crossing your path to notice that."

"…he didn't respect my authority, Obyron!" Zahndrekh countered, nearly whining as he did so. "And I thought he was kidding!"

"I gave you the mission report," Obyron reminded.

"Nyratep's head does not count as a valid mission report," Zahndrekh stated sardonically.

"No, but it was quicker than diplomacy, considering the Tau were right on top of us," Obyron deadpanned.

"What is a Tau?" Zahndrekh honestly questioned. "Do you mean those 'greater good' separatists that tried to steal my balls?"

"I doubt any sort of genetic sterilization would've affected your…ahem…'intense' virility, my Lord," Obyron disgustedly groaned. Zahndrekh, missing the sarcasm, smiled and strode forth ahead of Obyron.

"That's why **I **get the bitches," Zahndrekh bragged. "Now come, Obyron. I am about to use DIPLOMACY!"

"_Oh gods no,_" Obyron mentally cried out; the temporarily-humbled Vargard quickly followed Zahndrekh as the Nemesor entered the strange Necron construct. A yellow light bathed over Zahndrekh and Obyron, before the two entered the main chamber of the Royal Court. In stark contrast to the grit-and-green coloration of the outside Tomb World, the inside of the main chamber was a bright yellow, with red circuitry flowing across the walls in seemingly random directions. Many Necrons of many kinds walked monotonously through the chamber, whether it be through the entrance Zahndrekh and Obyron had entered from or on the many illusory walkways that looked smaller than should be expected. Ghedis, after giving the two a moment to observe the main chamber, then spoke up.

"Lords Zahndrekh and Obyron, I humbly welcome you to the Rubaxian Royal Court," Ghedis stated. "Ignoring previous Overlordships, and working in the obvious conclusion of Nemesor Zahndrekh here being our new leader, we are currently affiliated with the Oruscar dynasty."

"Yes, I believe you mentioned this after Obyron killed your idiotic leader," Zahndrekh plainly stated. Ghedis winced a bit at that bit of brutal honestly before continuing.

"You are correct, Lord Zahndrekh," Ghedis confirmed. "I merely wished to use my dynasty name as a segway to this declaration. I am aware of our dynasty's bitter power struggle with your Sautekh dynasty, to say nothing of the countless other dynasties that exist in this universe. I merely wish to let you know that I will not have heritage prevent me from assisting you."

"You talk as if you tried and failed to use your dynastic name as a weapon once before," Obyron noted. Zahndrekh nodded at Obyron's hypothesis, prompting Ghedis to speak up before Zahndrekh threw the whole conversation off-topic.

"Yes. I did attempt to use my dynastic name to gain Overlordship in my two bids for power. Overlords Byrinkarr and Rauzmah defeated me in combat, however, despite the sizable forces I amassed with my dynastic name," Ghedis explained. "Of course, since everyone in this Tomb World is part of the Oruscar dynasty, anyone could really use it to gain political leverage; I merely had better success at it because-"

A large metallic hand shot out immediately, grabbing Ghedis by the top of his metallic chestplate. Obyron stood back, stunned, as Zahndrekh pulled the Necron Lord close.

"Listen close, Ghedis," Zahndrekh growled sternly. "I. Don't. Care. I'll hear your life story LATER. I came here for the Royal Court, not a background check. …that's later."

Letting go of the hapless Necron Lord, Zahndrekh slammed his staff on the ground once, sending a reverberation that drew the attention of other Necrons within the chamber. "We have two objectives here, Ghedis. I want to see the entirety of the Royal Court. Not just most of them, or a couple representatives that act as proxies. I've been to enough 'sovereign' Tomb Worlds to recognize a trap or a lack of royal authority when I see it."

"I-I understand, Lord Zahndrekh," Ghedis nervously acknowledged. "Please follow me. The Royal Catacombs are-"

"NOT DONE," Zahndrekh bellowed, frightening the Necron Lord into silence simply due to the air of seriousness that surrounded the Nemesor. A moment of silence permeated the atmosphere, before Zahndrekh loosened his stance and casually lifted his right hand towards Obyron.

"My second reason for being here is to find a therapist for my dear Vargard here," Zahndrekh plainly stated. While Obyron's and Ghedis's jaws slowly went agape, Zahndrekh leaned forward to Ghedis and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Obyron thinks we're all robots."

An uncomfortable silence retook the atmosphere of the room once again. Obyron and Ghedis stood rigidly at a loss for words while Zahndrekh stood back up straight once more, brushing off some microscopic dust that had gathered on the top of his metallic chestplate. Obyron quickly closed his jaw, rebooted his mental processors, and spoke once again.

"My Lord, this is not needed," Obyron began. Zahndrekh stuck up one hand to silence him before Obyron could continue.

"Yes, it IS needed, my dear Obyron," Zahndrekh countered. "I can't have you waltzing into the Royal Catacombs of this Royal Court spouting such non-royal nonsense!"

"_Non-royal?_" Obyron mentally questioned.

"You might offend someone, Obyron; that's why I am worried," Zahndrekh explained. "I trust you can work with the Necrons of this Tomb World to find such an office. In the meantime, I will meet up with the Royal Court and use diplomacy. Everywhere."

"Please don't destroy more nobles, Lord Zahndrekh. Again," Obyron pleaded. Zahndrekh nodded, a slight grin appearing on his metal face.

"I doubt they will be a threat. Will they, lesser noble?" Zahndrekh questioned, turning his head to a confused Lord Ghedis. The hapless Necron Lord shook his head for a second, before nodding at Zahndrekh.

"We are…not well equipped, my Lord," Ghedis explained. "Nihilvokh made sure to deprive us of most of our weaponry and other odds and ends after hearing of Rauzmah's coup against Byrinkarr several months back. But enough personal history; here, the Royal Catacombs are through this gateway."

Ghedis turned around and took a couple steps forward onto a bright yellow triangle embedded in the ground. Zahndrekh walked forward as well, stepping firmly onto the triangle, before turning back to Obyron.

"Be sure to act well towards our potential comrades, Obyron," Zahndrekh ordered. "If they become our foes, you will know."

Obyron nodded at Zahndrekh's order, standing up straight after doing so. The Vargard watched as Zahndrekh and Ghedis began to slowly descend into the metal ground. Less than a second later, the same platform zoomed up straight into the air, spinning in a clockwise direction for some unfathomable reason, flying towards a dark black gateway in the center of the chamber's ceiling, illuminated only by the red circuitry flowing into it.

"WAAAAAAhhhhhh…" Zahndrekh screamed out as the yellow triangle soared into the ceiling. Obyron watched the triangle somehow manage to enter the circular hole in the ceiling without scraping up the sides, before his eyes caught sight of a couple orange-tinted Necron Immortals in front of him. Obyron looked over the two Immortals, who seemed to be observing Obyron out of curiosity.

"…_subroutines analyzed. These two aren't a threat. Most likely here for conversation,_" Obyron mentally noted. "Is there something that bothers you, fellow Necrons?"

The two Necron Immortals quickly froze up, although their 'freezing up' would only look like a dull twitch to organics. Obyron stared at the two for a bit, before continuing. "If you have nothing to say, then leave. You aren't Warriors, if I have to remind you," Obyron pointed out. One of the two Necron Immortals took a quick scan of the Immortal next to him, before facing Obyron and activating his less-than-stellar speech protocols.

"VaRGArd ObrYOn," the Necron Immortal addressed in a deep yet pitch-shifted tone of voice. "WE arE MereLy ImMo-mo-MO-rTALLLLLS-"

The second orange-tinted Immortal promptly (by organic standards, about as fast as someone casually reaching out to grab something) smacked the stuttering Necron Immortal upside the back of his head. The first Immortal emitted a dull droning buzz for a split second, before its functions were restored.

"I ApoLOGize, VaRgARD oByrON," the first Immortal stated. "M-mY fUNctiONs hAve bEEN dAMAgeD oVEr our GReAt sLeEP."

The Vargard let loose an insignificant sigh, realizing exactly where the conversation was headed. "I'd appreciate it if you'd stop talking," Obyron harshly stated. "If you're here to idolize me, don't. I have no need for glory or the hubris that comes with it. I am merely the highest-ranked soldier in Zahndrekh's personal army; I find pride in completing my objectives, all for the glory of the Necrons. My actions are Lord Zahndrekh's actions, fellow Necron, and while we may disagree on several points of contention, I will support all his actions on every step of our tedious journey."

* * *

"I HATE YOUR FUCKING ELEVATOR."

"Lord Zahndrekh, please get off-"

"**FUCKING. ELEVATOR.** You've ruined it for me man."

Two Necron Lords and eight Crypteks stared at the sight before them: the current highest rank noble caught in the gears and get-up of the esteemed Nemesor Zahndrekh in the center of the Royal Catacombs' elevator. Lord Ghedis, aware of how infamous this event would soon become within the Court – and, by extension, the Tomb World – tried to claw his way out from under Zahndrekh's body and cape, to no avail.

"Seriously, Ghedis, WHY'D IT SPIN!? What USE does that have!?" Zahndrekh chastised. "I can only imagine it'd be good at confusing separatists who'd try to get up here to assassinate the leading politicians of a Tomb World! And if that did happen, I'd let them do it because you'd ALREADY be fucked! If ANY enemy faction could ever reach the heart of a Tomb World so easily, then their political leaders deserve to die for being such horrid tacticians!"

Zahndrekh easily got up, with Ghedis's torso still stuck on Zahndrekh's right leg. Zahndrekh raised his right leg and began shaking off the thoroughly embarrassed Necron Lord, with the sounds of scraping metal and clanking gears filling the Royal Catacombs. Several Crypteks – metallic, humanoid, and one-eyed constructs that were noticeably more bulkier than Necron Lords at the expense of a cape – looked on in interest at the scene: some tilted their heads out of how out-of-left-field the entire scenario was, while others would've raised their eyebrows had they still had them. If they ever had them, that is, for not even those nobles remembered. Zahndrekh took one last heavy stomp on the ground, finally throwing Ghedis off of his leg; the hapless Necron Lord rolled forward and stopped at the feet of the other two Necron Lords in the area. Ghedis looked up solemnly at the two Lords, despair shimmering in his metallic eye sockets.

"Kill me," Ghedis begged.

"Oh, I promise you SOMEONE will!" Zahndrekh threatened, pointing down at the elevator. "And that SOMEONE might do it indiscriminately! With assassins! With ghosts! Assassin ghosts!"

Zahndrekh paused after that rant, breathing heavily despite lacking a respiratory system. Ghedis slowly got up, thinking that sudden movements would set off Zahndrekh once again. The room fell silent as the entire Royal Court stared at the crazed Nemesor, whom was angrily staring down Ghedis as if he was prey. Ghedis nervously shifted his eyes back and forth, before raising his right hand as if he were holding a tray.

"Um…Lord Zahndrekh, these Necrons are-!" Ghedis began.

"**GHOST ASSASSINS!**" Zahndrekh screamed. Before Zahndrekh could continue, however, one Cryptek previously sitting on a metallic bench attached to the wall stood up. The Cryptek pointed at Zahndrekh, its tone clear and concise.

"OK, news flash: fuck off," the Cryptek began, stunning Zahndrekh and most of the Necrons in the room. "Your childish ranting is pointless, arbitrary BULLSHIT. I really don't care who you are: deal with it."

The Cryptek crossed his arms while Ghedis's mouthpiece nearly dislodged itself from his own jaw. "We all have better things to do than babysit the fifth damn basket case to show up and proclaim itself king. If you all need me for…ahem…"

The insubordinate Cryptek then raised both his arms, using his fingers to make air quotes. "…'disciplinary action,' then you know where I'll be. Except you, you whining, idiotic, sack of-!"

"THAT'S NEMESOR ZAHNDREKH, DORIINAL!" Ghedis screamed out. The environment found a new air of silence as the rash Cryptek processed that new information; he soon realized, at the same time as the other previously-ignorant nobles, who he was dealing with. Zahndrekh, obviously unamused, straightened his posture and glared hyperphase daggers at his aggressor. The Cryptek Doriinal lowered both his arms, widening his eyes at roughly the same time.

"…shit," Doriinal incredulously muttered.

"…you have nerve," Zahndrekh growled. While Doriinal's mocking tone was gone, the small amount of fear and nervousness he previously had dissipated quickly.

"And you have a problem," Doriinal pointed out. "Whining like a child and throwing a tantrum over an elevator? I don't care what your military record is, whom you've beaten, or whom you've served. You have an 'esteemed' or 'important' position? Good. Now act like you deserve to be in that position."

A tense two seconds of silence filled the room, with the rest of the Rubaxian Royal Court either enjoying the show or cowering in terror.

"…what's your harbinger title, Cryptek?" Zahndrekh growled, his right hand slowly rising up to grasp the handle of his Staff of Light attached on his own back.

"I'm a Harbinger of Despair, and you can't break me," Doriinal challenged, bravery and determination laced in his voice. Zahndrekh's hand quickly stopped and lowered itself from the handle of his staff, his own gaze becoming less angry yet still stern.

"Your attitude makes sense. Being an asshole is part of breaking enemy morale, hence despair," Zahndrekh rationalized. "If you were of any other title, you'd be dead. Remember that. Now, go tend to whatever you were going to do."

Without another word, the Harbinger of Despair, Doriinal, turned around and left down a dark-gray entryway, disappearing from the view of Zahndrekh and the rest of the Royal Court. The rest of the Royal Court turned to look at Zahndrekh, whom was stuck staring at the corridor for a solid ten seconds before releasing a long, somehow pent-up sight.

"…what a dick," Zahndrekh muttered. "…I hate Despair Crypteks."

Zahndrekh quickly looked up at Ghedis and the other nine Royal Court members, his facial expression finally emitting an aura of authority. "I already know Lord Ghedis, and Door-In-Ass just made himself known. Anyone else gonna identify themselves, or are you just gonna bore me with what your name is and leave without actually establishing yourself?" Zahndrekh questioned.

"_Against my better judgment, I won't correct you on that quip against Doriinal,_" Ghedis mentally informed himself. "_Yes. Don't say a word. Don't. Say. Anything._"

The remaining nine Necrons looked amongst each other, before one of the two Necron Lords came forth. This Necron Lord had a blue tint instead of a green glow, with naught but the traditional cape flowing from the shoulderblades and a Voidblade – a flat, football-shaped blade glowing a dark green – attached to the back of the Necron Lord's hand.

"My name is Lord Grienal, Nemesor Zahndrekh," the second Necron Lord stated, formally bowing down. "I am Ghedis's cousin, just in case you wished to know."

"I appreciate the formalities, Grienal," Zahndrekh calmly responded, nodding his head at the Necron noble; Zahndrekh turned to Ghedis next, a softer look in his eye sockets. "Speaking of formalities, I apologize for my less-than-mature introduction with you after I finishing up slaying those cowardly Deathmark Necrontyr, Ghedis."

"Necrontyr?" Ghedis asked, before quickly amending his statement upon realizing what he just asked. "I-I mean, I understand, you WERE just on an…uh…adrenaline rush?"

"Glad to see you understand," Zahndrekh happily chuckled, turning his view to the rest of the Royal Court.

"_Just smile with him and hope he doesn't kill you, Ghedis; you've done this before,_" Ghedis mentally thought as he tried to reassure himself. The other Necron Lord came forth, looking similar to Ghedis and Grienal; unlike Ghedis's green tint and Grienal's blue, the third Lord had an orange tint to him, as well as an obviously reinforced armor plating that Zahndrekh noticed was of higher quality than Ghedis and Grienal's dermal plating. The third Lord opened his mouth to speak, before Grienal quickly cut him off.

"This Necron Lord is John," Grienal stated matter-of-factly. "Don't mind him."

'John' quickly turned towards Grienal, anger evident in his burning robotic gaze. "My name is Jarhntet, Grienal," the Lord growled. Grienal merely shrugged, disinterested with the correction.

"John's easier to remember," Grienal justified, his facial expression slowly changing to a faux-toothy grin. "Or should we call you Jennifer? Hehe…"

Jarhntet quickly stepped forward into Grienal's personal space, obviously distressed by the name-calling. "Damn it, Grienal! So because I'm not related to you like Grodus-!?"

"Ghedis," Lord Ghedis interjected to no one's notice.

"-you're allowed to continually harass me for it!?" Jarhntet accused. Grienal quickly broke out in the Necron version of a large grin, emitting a guttural chuckle in the process.

"Now, now, you're my half-brother, John," Grienal taunted. "Of COURSE you're related to me."

"Stop dodging the issue!" Jarhntet shouted out, pushing Grienal back a bit out of anger.

"Bitch fight!" a bulky Cryptek behind the two half-brothers shouted out. Zahndrekh immediately pointed to the Cryptek, flashing him a winner's smile.

"I like you," Zahndrekh earnestly complimented; the short banter was ignored by the two half-brothers, however, as they immediately began fighting each other, with Grienal swinging his Voidblade and Jarhntet throwing punches while dodging the molecular-level sharp blade. Several Crypteks started cheering and shouting animal-like grunts at the fight; Zahndrekh began clapping to the fight as well, turning to the stunned Ghedis while clapping.

"Ah, now THIS is good entertainment! It's even better because I didn't have to ask for it either!" Zahndrekh laughed. "Ghedis, fetch me some popcorn."

Ghedis turned to the eccentric Nemesor, a look of pure confusion clear on his face. "You want what?" Ghedis questioned.

"Popcorn," Zahndrekh stated again, still intent on observing the fight.

"What's a popcorn?" Ghedis asked, unaware of the alien term Zahndrekh was vocalizing. Zahndrekh turned his head to Ghedis, obviously displeased.

"Oh great, ANOTHER uncultured Tomb World," Zahndrekh growled. "You disappoint me, Grodus."

"But I'm-!" Ghedis began.

"-not getting me my damn popcorn!" Zahndrekh finished, his anger from before resurfacing. "Spinning elevators, no popcorn…I swear, this is way too similar to the Battle of Primus Dual, if you replaced spinning elevators and no popcorn with malfunctioning Tomb Blades and Scarabs EVERYWHERE."

Ghedis stared at the displeased Nemesor, whom now had his arms crossed and high-up on his chest like a disobedient child. Ghedis's gaze shifted between Zahndrekh and the fighting half-brothers, nonplussed at how chaotic the situation had become; his skull quickly found a home in the palms of both his hands as Ghedis grieved over the situation at hand.

"_I only hope Obyron is having a much better time than this abysmal roll call…_" Ghedis pleaded.

* * *

The sound of metallic joints whirring in unison filled the dulled hallway Obyron was striding through. The two Necron Immortals from before led the Vargard towards a destination at the end of the hallway; Obyron took note of the dark blue circuitry spread out on the dull-gray walls.

"I assume the Archives are close?" Obyron questioned.

"ThEY aRe aHeAD, mY LorD," the damaged Necron Immortal answered. Obyron, satisfied with his answer, strided forth at a faster pace, closing the distance between him and the end of the hallway. Upon reaching the end of the hallway, Obyron came face-to-face with a large, metallic-black device standing erect in the center of the room. The black device connected directly to the ground and ceiling of the room, with all of the circuitry from the hallway connecting to the device. Holographic screens spun around a glowing blue core embedded in the center of the device. Obyron and the two Immortals approached the machine, with the Immortals reaching towards a holographic triangle.

A quiet humming, detectable only to the most fine-tuned of Necron sensory devices, emitted itself from the machine as the Immortals made physical contact with the triangle hologram; said triangle quickly grew a singular, holographic, hexagonal eye in its center. "Welcome to Klippitz. Please input password," the hologram ordered in a simplistic tone of voice.

"The Overlord is dead," the non-malfunctioning Necron Immortal uttered.

"Password accepted. Welcome to the data core, Overlord Nihilvokh," the hologram announced. "Do you have any specific queries you wish to undertake?"

"_No need for an indirect insult of a password to my lord," _Obyron thought, a small flare of indignation making itself known in the Vargard's head. The two Necron Immortals turned to Obyron, nodding slightly at him before taking a slow step back to give the large Vargard space. Obyron silently walked forward, stopping between the two Immortals to address the local intelligence.

"Change username," Obyron ordered. "New input data: Nemesor Zahndrekh. New input data: Vargard Obyron."

A few nanoseconds passed before a small pinging noise came from the hologram. "Username change accepted. Would you like to change your password?" the hologram questioned.

"Set the password to a nano-molecular biometric scan with a back-up voice emulator," Obyron ordered. "I have input data for Vargard Obyron at this time."

"Warning! Past theories involving the Necron race's similarities prove a significant risk for identity theft," the hologram warned. "Do you wish to continue?"

"_I hate Klippitz_," Obyron mentally growled. "Yes. Input the new data now for Vargard Obyron."

"Scanning," the hologram announced; after three seconds had passed, the same pinging sound was heard once more. "Scan complete. Welcome to the data core, Vargard Obyron. Do you have any specific queries you wish to undertake?"

"I want all information on your hard drive uploaded to my abdominal, cranial, and auxiliary memory cores," Obyron ordered. "Make it thrice copied, encrypted, and safeguarded with a self-deletion protocol in case said information falls to unauthorized users."

"Order acknowledged," the hologram stated. Obyron stood patiently as several seconds passed; the pinging noise made itself known once more, again. "Downloads complete. Are there any more inquiries needed to be made?"

"Are there any immediate feedback reports of critical nature?" Obyron inquired.

"There is currently an incursion of unfamiliar Necron technology near the antechamber entrance," the hologram stated. Obyron shook his head slightly without breaking eye contact with the hologram.

"Belay that information; it is useless," Obyron ordered, realizing the system still thought that Zahndrekh's arrival was a mere intrusion. Not even a second passed before the hologram lit up again.

"That information has been moved to the 'Non-Critical Classified' folder. There seems to be a minor skirmish in the Royal Court's chambers," the hologram then stated.

"_Damn it, Zahndrekh,_" Obyron chastised mentally.

"Are there any more inquires needed to be made?" the hologram asked one final time.

"None at the moment. Log out," Obyron ordered.

"Acknowledged. Thank you for using Klippitz," the hologram hollowly thanked, before disappearing into the spinning sea of overhead data. Obyron quickly tapped the side of his head, accessing the data he had just received.

"_Access data core files. Open Royal Court records under Overlord Nihilvokh,_" Obyron ordered his own processors. "_Retrieve basic summary for now._"

Eleven different windows quickly opened up in Obyron's electronic eyes, obscuring his vision of the world around him with data. "_Lord Ghedis: competent, loyal, weak, mid-range combat oriented. Lord Grienal: loud, self-serving, strong physical contender, ties to ancient and extinct Necrontyr warlords. Lord Jarhntet: deceptive, headstrong, adopted. …adopted?" _Obyron thought. The Vargard then turned around to ask the Immortals a question before being instantaneously whisked away in a puff of shadow. The two Immortals looked to one another, before looking back at where Obyron was once standing.

"WhERE diD He gO?" the damaged Immortal pondered. The second Immortal shrugged before walking over to the data console, which was now spewing random images of the Tomb World and its outer surroundings.

"Error. Error. Malfunction. Malfunction. Failure. Failure," the hologram warned. Both Immortals shook their heads while the mainly functional one tried to shut off the alarms.

"I HaTe kLIPpitZ," the damaged Immortal muttered. The second Immortal began typing on the holographic interface of the data console, shutting off the alarms and gaining better focus on the images being constantly flashed around the console's core. The triangular hologram reappeared, normal once more.

"Password protocols averted. Situation has progressed from 'Manageable' to 'Dire.' Actions need to be taken to ensure Rubax's safety," the hologram warned.

"Bring up the screen that caused the alarm," the Immortal ordered.

"In light of 'Dire' level situation, nominal grunts are allowed access. Are you a nominal grunt? If so, please push the glowing red button," the hologram ordered.

"I rEAlly hATe KlIPPItz," the damaged Immortal muttered. The second Immortal quickly pressed the shiny holographic button; the hologram paused for a couple nanoseconds before responding with a ping.

"Access accepted. Please re-enter orders," the hologram advised. After a short groan from the mostly functional Immortal, he looked towards the screens continually spinning around the core of the data console.

"Bring me the screen that caused the alarm," the Immortal ordered in an angrier tone of voice. Two screens pulled themselves down from the fray of information floating above the two Immortals; both grunts observed the screens, before both of their faces changed to an expression of shock (by Necron standards).

"…alarm the Nemesor," the second Immortal ordered.

"Certainly, nominal grunt number 6-7-3-S-" the hologram began.

"JuS-uS-US-St DO It!" the damaged Necron ordered.

"Alert sent. Are there any more inquires needed to be made?" the hologram inquired.

* * *

Obyron quickly fell out of the dark shadow that sucked him away from the data core, appearing between Zahndrekh and Lord Ghedis up in the Royal Chambers; Obyron was only able to see a flipped over table, a mess on the floor, and Ghedis cowering behind a wall before Obyron himself was hit in the face by a metallic chair.

"Oooh, you alright, Obyron?" Zahndrekh asked as the metal behemoth fell backwards from the surprise impact. "Hey guys, whoever did that should man up right-!"

Obyron quickly fell back into the dark puddle of his Ghostwalk Mantle, appearing upright in the midst of the fight going on betwixt the two Necron Lords. In one swift moment, Obyron grabbed both Lords by their necks and smashed their skulls together, cracking the casing on both and knocking them both out cold. Silence – sans the damaged whirring of the Lords' mechanical components in their skulls working to repair the damage – returned to the room as Obyron took a better look at his surroundings. Turning his head to his right, Obyron looked at three of the bulkier and now surprised Necron Crypteks.

"From left to right. Destruction Cryptek Wuuntherm. Auxiliary Cryptek Saath. Eternity Cryptek Citulah. Stop advocating the fight. Clean up," Obyron ordered; before they could object, Obyron's head made a near-impossible 180 degree turn to the opposite side of the room, where three smaller Crypteks could be seen. "From left to right. Auxiliary Cryptek Azoth. Auxiliary Cryptek Zult. Storm Cryptek Yatis. Show backbone. Assist the others in cleaning up this mess."

With the orders issued, Obyron then turned forwards to Zahndrekh and Ghedis. "My Lord, please throw me that chair that hit me earlier," Obyron politely asked. Zahndrekh, without a word, picked up said chair with one hand and threw it at the Vargard; Obyron quickly unsheathed his Warscythe and brought the chair smashing down into the ground, with the tip of his Warscythe embedded within the chair's metal. Before anyone could question Obyron's action, a loud moan emitted from the chair, before the chair morphed its form into the Royal Court's last unintroduced Cryptek.

"Transmogrification Cryptek Thessius. Get the Lords to a rejuvenation chamber, and don't transform into an object that can be thrown next time," Obyron growled, removing the tip of his Warscythe afterwards. The injured Cryptek meekly got up and limped over to the unconscious Necron Lords, his wound healing up quickly compared to the still-limp Necron Lords. Obyron, satisfied with the lack of chaos and backtalk, sheathed his Warscythe and walked over to the impressed Lord Ghedis and lackadaisical Nemesor Zahndrekh.

"Well, you just ruined my fun for the next 300 light-years," Zahndrekh sighed.

"I am curious, my Lord: are there not eight Crypteks?" Obyron questioned. "The data core provided me with their profiles, but…"

"Oh, Door-In-Ass is moping in his room over something," Zahndrekh stated. "Lucky thing, too. If you were here, then he'd probably be part of the wreckage that was thrown around."

"If I was here, no wreckage would have occurred," Obyron deadpanned. Zahndrekh's disposition changed from apathetic to impressed as he made a small clicking noise with his robotic mouth while pointing his right index finger at Obyron.

"Touché, my loyal Vargard," Zahndrekh acknowledged.

"So, who hit you, my Lord?" Obyron questioned. "My Ghostwalk Mantle never activates remotely unless you are in physical danger."

"Ah, yeah, Ghedis was thrown at me when he tried to get Grienal to stop," Zahndrekh explained. "I wouldn't blame the lesser noble, though. He tried. And failed, but still."

Obyron turned to look at the Necron Lord Ghedis after hearing what Zahndrekh had to say; Ghedis sheepishly rubbed the back of his metallic neck with his hand, creating a loud scraping sound in the process.

"I have to admit, your abilities are impressive," Ghedis stated. "No one's ever managed to break up a fight between those two before…"

Obyron quickly stopped paying attention to Ghedis's retelling of a past brawl between Jarhntet and Grienal, however, whenever a stream of data began uploading itself into Obyron's processors. Obyron allowed the data through, observing the two screens the Immortals had witnessed after Obyron had unwillingly teleported away. After a couple nanoseconds passed, Obyron turned to Zahndrekh, a hint of alarm in his voice.

"My Lord, you need to see this," Obyron stated urgently. Zahndrekh simply shrugged as Obyron quickly transferred the data through to Zahndrekh's processors.

"See what? Did we get recording of the brawl?" Zahndrekh giddily questioned.

"Yes, but that's not what I'm referring to," Obyron swiftly replied.

"Then what…" Zahndrekh began, before going deathly silent. Zahndrekh's extremities tensed up immediately as he began clenching his fists and jaw together, creating a mish-mash of scraping noises. The scraping caused the other Crypteks to stop cleaning up and observe Zahndrekh out of fear and curiosity, fear being the dominant sliver of emotion this time around. Ghedis looked towards the Crypteks and back to the increasingly infuriated Zahndrekh, slowly becoming more distressed than ever.

"…Lord Zahndrekh?" Ghedis nervously asked. "What's going on?"

With Ghedis's statement reminding Zahndrekh he wasn't yet moving, Zahndrekh pointed at Ghedis and Obyron at near-breakneck speeds. "OUTSIDE. NOW," Zahndrekh ordered, before briskly turning around to the elevator. Obyron and Ghedis followed, with Obyron's strides countering Ghedis's nervous, clunky footfalls.

"You mean outside the Chamber?" Ghedis questioned. Zahndrekh turned towards the Necron Lord, eyes inflamed with anger and an appearance of rage from the Necron Lord not understanding Zahndrekh's thoughts.

"NO I MEAN-!"

* * *

"**RAAAAGH!"**

"**FOR THE EMPEROR!"**

Two loud screams of organic rage were the last sensory data at least 3 Lychguard could input for the rest of their subservient existence. The seven remaining Lychguard armed themselves as they witnessed who was attacking them: two Iron Hand Space Marines, injured from their previous bout with the Necrons, yet not dead like the rest of their squad.

"**WE WILL NOT CEASE!"**

"**OUR SKIN IS IRON!"**

"We are iron," one Lychguard spat out as all of their hyperphase shields came online. Each Lychguard prepared themselves for close combat, getting their footing on the ground as they analyzed their attackers' potential strategies.

Of course, while they were busy running their plans, both Iron Hands shot out and punched through their hyperphase shields into the skulls of the Lychguard. Two more Lychguard fell, with the Iron Hands crushing their skulls underneath their boots for added security measures. The broken line of Lychguard turned to face their attackers, before the two did a move that stunned them and, in their nanosecond of hindsight, made perfect sense.

They jumped atop Zahndrekh's Catacomb Command Barge and hijacked it.

"**OUT OF OUR WAY!"**

"**I CALL SHOTGUN!"**

Both Iron Hands attacked the two individual Necron pilots controlling Zahndrekh's vessel instead of the five Lychguard behind them. With both pilots dead, the Catacomb Command Barge lost both of its core, eternally-required calibrators; in simpler terms, the Barge shot forward immediately, utterly destroying another Lychguard, severing one more (although it began reforming due to its Reanimation Protocols), and sending one of the Iron Hands flying headfirst into the arched back "wall" of the skimming Necron machine.

The four active Lychguard and the one reassembling Lychguard looked on in shock and disgrace as the Barge flew off across the sands of the planetoid the Rubaxian Tomb World called its home; while the Barge was not going as fast as a Necron pilot could make it go, the Lychguard could tell the Iron Hand Space Marine was at least adept at controlling the Barge to go where it wanted.

"What happened here!?" Obyron shouted, he and Ghedis running at full speed towards the now-five active Lychguard turned to face him.

"That squad of Iron Hands from before weren't all totally dead," one Lychguard mentioned in a monotone.

"Two survivors have hijacked the Barge," a second Lychguard stated. "We can follow them, but if they have any sort of way off this world, we may have lost them."

"Obyron, can't you use your Ghostwalk Mantle?" Ghedis mentioned desperately. "Just teleport above where they'll be, drop in on them, and kill them!"

"…_hopefully that can work_," Obyron mentally thought, sighing inwardly as he disappeared into a shadow of inky darkness.

* * *

"OK, I call shotgun? Seriously?"

"Look, I had nothing more to say to those xenos; don't judge me."

"…wait what's that?"

The two Iron Hands, bickering while attempting to direct the Barge away from the Tomb World's entrance, turned their heads to the left and saw a dark object appear in the sky, blotting out the dimmed sun peaking from behind heavy cloud cover.

The object in question was at least 15 meters away.

* * *

"Aw fu-"

Obyron landed right into the rocky ground, splitting the centuries-old stone without tripping over himself. Obyron got up quickly, making eye contact with the speeding-away Catacomb Command Barge; Obyron felt his fist clench, but he made no more attempts to get closer with his Ghostwalk Mantle. With no direct, reliant way to route the thieves at the moment, Obyron stood tall and began processing the situation.

"…_Tomb Ship Xexan is still too far in orbit to be of use. Ordering it down to the surface would alarm these human vermin and further speed up escape. Only choice is to leg it on…wait. This Tomb World is ours. …Rubaxian Tomb World files accessed from neural hyperphase system. Ghost Ark Conscription authorized. Ghost Ark modification for nobles and elites authorized. Estimated delay time: 30 solar minutes._"

With that, the Vargard disappeared once more in a puff of inky shadows, leaving the insignificant splintered rock behind.

* * *

"I can't see; did he stop them?" Ghedis asked the Lychguard, hoping someone had sights on what was happening. To answer, albeit unintentionally, Obyron appeared behind the Necron Lord, as stoic as ever.

"My Ghostwalk Mantle was unable to effectively stop the human scum," Obyron noted. Ghedis turned around, shocked at the sudden appearance of Obyron, then stunned at his own admission of failure.

"Wait, you failed!?" Ghedis restated, still stunned. "But you took out Nihilvokh easily with that teleportation of yours! I saw it happen but I thought you died when-!"

"My Mantle is only effective within a 60 meter radius of my Lord, Nemesor Zahndrekh," Obyron plainly explained. "I can use it outside of his effective area, but it will not be reliable."

"…but Zahndrekh was nowhere NEAR Nihilvokh!" Ghedis protested, close to discrediting Obyron for his failure. Obyron grabbed the hapless Lord's chestplate, staring down the lesser noble with obvious signs of anger from insubordination.

"Zahndrekh was WITHIN 60 meters, you fool," Obyron hissed. "The out-of-control Necron machine meant for speedy delivery of a warlord into battle IS NOT."

"…point taken," Ghedis meekly admitted, not wanting to meet a similar fate like his predecessors. The one-sided hostility was soon forgotten, however, with both Necrons – and the other five Lychguard – picking up on an increasingly loud clanking noise coming from the Tomb World's entrance. Obyron set down Ghedis and bent over on one knee as a royally angered Nemesor Zahndrekh slowly stormed out the entrance, staff in hand and steam billowing out of several of Zahndrekh's joints.

"L-Lord Zahndrekh! We regret to inform you-!" Ghedis began, worried at the immense change of Zahndrekh's jovial attitude.

Zahndrekh then stuck his head out at Obyron, and screamed.

"**BITCH! STOLE! MY! SHIIIIIIIIIIT!" **Zahndrekh cursed, his voice reverberating across the sands of the desolate Tomb World's exterior surface.

* * *

"You hear something?"

"You think they're mobilizing?"

"Probab-WOAH! Careful!"

"Hey, I can't control this xeno crap!"

"No, really? I'd be Emperor-blessed if we'd found the schematics in a drawer on this damn thing!"

"…schematics?"

"…you know, for reverse-engineering so we can beat these xenos at their own game?"

"Oh, right. How close are we to the Astral?"

While one of the Iron Hand Space Marines looked forward at the sand dunes to avoid crashing into any potential skyward-jutting rock formations, the second one looked upon his wrist; pressing a small, white button uncovered a green screen, covered in static and emitting white noise.

"Damn it, the xeno tech is blocking our signal."

"We'll have to ditch this thing soon."

"You good at remembering locations?"

"Oh sure. I think we parked next to a sand dune. Which was next to a smaller sand dune that was part of a bigger sand dune. I think I saw a crab, too."

"…fuck you, Skibburd."

"Sir."

The second Space Marine closed his malfunctioning radar and once again attempted to control the out-of-control Catacomb Command Barge, avoiding being tossed off the crazy technological marvel-and-monstrosity alongside his snarky companion, their thoughts as one.

"_May the Emperor guide us…_"

* * *

_I've seen nobles rise and fall again and again._

_More times than one can expect in a single lifetime, in my own opinion._

_But I refuse to let what felled my enemies do me in._

**I REFUSE.**

* * *

**Well, that was…lengthier than I had originally planned. Yeesh. This is, what, the third time I've written something and said to myself, "Gee, this'll be a good end to a trilogy of chapters," only to find out its longer than a damn yardstick if someone printed it out.**

**For those who hate door stoppers of chapters, I apologize. I'll try to keep a good balance next time and not fill out over 17 pages of Microsoft Word again.**

**JUST A NOTE: If you're interested in story, then stop here and wait for the next update. The rest of this chapter from here on out is just a long list of trivia regarding naming devices for this chapter.**

**Now for said trivia: most of the characters and vehicles introduced in this chapter were inspired by characters from the Cthulu Mythos. Not in personality (I think; I've yet to grind out how they act, Doriinal aside).**

**Seriously, aside from Doriinal, Grienal, Jarhntet, Klippitz (technically a program, not a character, but whatever), the Astral, and Skibburd, everyone else has a based-off-something-else name.**

**Wuuntherm is based off…something from **_**Beowulf**_** or something. I forget if I mixed someone/thing together there. **

**The Astral is actually an in-joke for me: I always named the Epoch that whenever I played **_**Chrono Trigger**_** on the DS.**

**Saath's name comes from ****S****hub-Niggur****ath**** with an extra 'a' in there. Citulah's name is Cthulu, obviously.**

**Azoth was originally from Azathoth, although I dumbed it down to a **_**Haunting Ground**_** reference after I named him Azoth.**

**Zult's name is derived from ****Tulz****scha, after I mixed the words around a bit. Which is, two seconds.**

**Yatis actually came from Yibb-Tstll, although I don't know why 'Yatis' sprang to mind.**

**The earlier-mentioned Overlord Nyratep was an intentional plan on Nyarlathotep, if the naming device wasn't obvious yet.**

**Finally, The Necron ship Obyron hailed, the Tomb Ship Xexan, references Xexanoth, simply because I hadn't checked out the Elder Gods yet.**

**Oh, and Thessius? Yeah, his name came from **_**Mass Effect**_**'s Thessia. I decided against framing his name from the Cthulu Mythos simply because, after his first significant action is being hit out of Chair Mode, I felt it'd be an insult to the character who could've inspired his name. …also, if there's a Roman Mythological character named Thessius, I did NOT mean to invoke him/her/it. Just saying, because it does sound Roman or something to me. (nervous shrug)**

**(deep breath) Whew! OK, that's all said and done! To be safe, I don't own Warhammer 40,000 or anything I referenced in this chapter! I only own OC personalities.**

**I also thank TV Tropes for the Cthulu Mythos character page so I could use it for simple references. And you all thought I actually had literary taste…! (self-depreciation ahoy)**

**See you all next time for the newest arc and a less lengthy trivia endnote section!**

**(awkward smile, before shuffling out of your sight due to myself being a perceived insult on your intelligence and patience)**


	4. Force: Split Lines

**All right, with **_**Prologue **_**complete, we now move onto the **_**Force**_** arc! Complete with (insert whatever will happen in later chapters here as I am literally making this up as I go along)! Won't it be exciting!? Yeah, I know, it won't.**

**Oh, and I don't own Warhammer. If I did, and I listened to the voices in my head, I'd call it Waaghammer and make everyone civilized Orks. Just 'cause.**

* * *

"You have GOT to be KIDDING ME!"

Several rampant bolts of energy shot out of Zahndrekh's staff as he angrily bashed the rocky ground in front of the Tomb World's entrance; all of which shot harmlessly out of the way of all Necrons in the vicinity, finding their permanent homes in the rocks and sands of the Tomb World or the dead bodies of the Space Marines from before. Ghedis, poking his head out from behind the stoic Obyron and his cowl, nervously spoke up out of worry.

"…are you finished yet, my Lord?" Ghedis questioned; the Nemesor straightened up at the question, his grip tightening on his Staff of Light. Turning around at a normal speed, Zahndrekh casually walked over to Ghedis, stopping just outside the Necron's personal space. Lowering his upper body slightly to face Ghedis, Zahndrekh spoke once more in a calm but infuriated tone of voice.

"Ghedis," Zahndrekh began. "I will be finished when the thieves are dead. Tell me: do you have ANY means of stopping those separatist fools? At ALL?"

"…no, my Lord, I don't have any personal abilities," Ghedis stated slowly but surely. "I do know we have some Ghost Arks, Night Scythes, and at least 3 Catacomb Command Barges we can spare."

"I trust your own judgment with what you own," Zahndrekh acknowledged. "I'm assuming you and Obyron have made some sort of contingency?"

"Yes, we have," Obyron plainly stated, interrupting the two. While Ghedis was surprised Obyron was covering for him, Zahndrekh didn't show the same surprise. The Nemesor rose tall once more, looking upwards to face his larger subordinate.

"…are you covering for him, Obyron?" Zahndrekh questioned, suspicion easily inflected on his voice. Obyron, remaining stoic, replied immediately.

"Would it matter either way? We cannot let our technology fall in the hands of the lesser species," Obyron noted.

"Separatists," Zahndrekh corrected. "But your point is sound. Which transport did you attain?"

"I conscripted a Ghost Ark for our pursuit," Obyron stated. "The Night Scythes would be too loud for such an endeavor, and I doubt we can fit all the Lychguard with us on our travel."

"…wait, the Ghost Arks can take Lychguard?" Zahndrekh asked, shocked. "I thought they could only use the Night Scythes…"

"I had it modified a bit to suit our current needs," Obyron explained away, waving his right hand in the air as he did so. "We will have to go slower than normal to accompany the rudimentary holding compartments for our Lychguard, but provided all goes well, we can kill or otherwise incapacitate the thieves."

"Good. I let them die because they were nothing but soldiers to a failure of a general," Zahndrekh growled. "Perhaps we can capture them, fatten them up, and give them a couple dips in the Scarab pit…?"

Obyron tilted his robotic head slightly, confused at both Zahndrekh's statement and the idea of it in the first place. "My Lord, we don't HAVE a Scarab pit. Although that is a good idea for future torture usage…"

"You mean for the…ahem, separatists, right?" Ghedis meekly questioned. "I dunno about you guys, but I prefer my necrodermis in one piece, thank you."

"If you wish to keep it in one piece, you will go to your brothers in the Tomb World," Obyron ordered. "We will need at least half for our next campaign to the stars."

Ghedis, taking the hint, bowed down towards Nemesor Zahndrekh, before turning back to the Tomb World's entrance and scurrying off, leaving the two Necron figureheads alone with their five-man Lychguard squad. Zahndrekh looked towards the Lychguard and Obyron, before setting his eyes on the distance where the Iron Hands had fled.

"Obyron."

"Yes, Lord Zahndrekh?" Obyron acknowledged, now bowing to his Nemesor master. The Nemesor turned to his kneeling bodyguard, anger evident in his robotic skeletal face.

"You know how I normally wish to capture the commander of the enemy forces out of respect for their chain of command?" Zahndrekh rhetorically questioned. "Ignore that for this battle. I want them dead."

"…_finally,_" Obyron half-excitedly thought. "As you wish, Lord Zahndrekh."

As Obyron rose from his kneeling, a small, vibrant hum made itself known to both of the nobles; turning around to the Tomb World's entrance, the two saw a Necron Immortal guiding the large, skeletal Ghost Ark out of the dark corridors. The Ghost Ark slowly hovered out of the entrance, its crackling, electric spires nearly scraping the ceiling of the corridor. Nemesor Zahndrekh keenly looked over the Ark, impressed, intrigued, and confused. Zahndrekh brought his right hand up to his chin and began "scratching" it out of curiosity, creating a loud scraping noise in the process.

"I can understand why we need transportation, and frankly, I'm amazed you managed to fix a Ghost Ark for anything other than our foot soldiers to use," Zahndrekh complimented. "Why didn't we use a Night Scythe though? I mean, sure it's loud, but Ghost Arks are loud too."

"If we're facing a contingency force, we need the extra armor," Obyron pointed out. "Sure, tesla destructors on a flying ship would be good in theory, but if any of these forces have a strong enough weapon and enough luck, our Night Scythe would be downed and we'd have little to no way of accurately knowing without wasting time."

Zahndrekh stopped "scratching" his chin, sagging his shoulders in defeat. "OK, OK, fine. That's a valid argument," Zahndrekh admitted. "Let's hope it doesn't turn into that time we battled the separatists of Orxon V."

"For the last time, there were no forces there, it was just an electrical storm…never mind, this is wasting time," Obyron muttered. "Get aboard, my Lord."

Obyron then turned to the five Lychguard, pointing to each one of them. "All of you will come with us. Our lost Necrons ("NECRONTYR, Obyron!") will be avenged. Whether it be by someone else cleaning up your mess or not is up to you," Obyron chastised.

The Lychguard bowed to Obyron and Zahndrekh, deferring to the former's harsh criticisms and understanding his implications of retribution. Almost immediately afterwards, the Lychguard, as well as Zahndrekh and Obyron, boarded the modified Ghost Ark; the electrical engines brought themselves up to speed once more as the Necron craft began to zoom across the rocky and sandy exterior of the Rubaxian Tomb World, in guesswork pursuit of the Iron Hand chariotjackers.

* * *

"OK, MAYBE the spinning elevator WAS a bad idea…" Ghedis moaned, trying to get back atop his feet after returning to the Tomb World.

"Well, that's something the entire Court can unanimously agree on, for once," Wuuntherm grumbled as he scrubbed the floor of the Royal with pure energy. Saath and Citulah slowly shuffled past the Cryptek, carrying a large piece of Necron metal to a sizable dent in the wall.

"I bet Doriinal's wishing he saw this mess," Saath chuckled.

"Actually, I-hold on, move this carefully," Citulah started, helping Saath put the sheet metal into the dent; Citulah kept speaking after the living metal took hold of the new sheet metal for integration into the walls. "I think Doriinal wouldn't really care, to be honest. Sure, he's a Despair Cryptek, so having enough social skills to convince your foe to kill himself is kinda a prerequisite…"

"How would telling an enemy to kill itself off be related to a feudal squabble?" Wuuntherm questioned, still scrubbing the blackened stains on the ground.

"I'd guess it's because Doriinal can't-!" Saath began, before Ghedis walked past the three, neutrality evident in his passing voice.

"Saath, Citulah, help Wuuntherm out and quit gossiping. That's why Despair Crypteks shut themselves away from the rest of the Necrons in the first place," Ghedis coolly chastised. "When you're done, meet me at Doriinal's quarters."

"Uh, sorry…" Citulah muttered, before being hit by Saath on the shoulder.

"Dude, that's the same thing that happens to most Eternity Crypteks, why do you care?" Saath grumbled. Before he could get a response, Wuuntherm shot his metallic skull upwards at the two Crypteks, a smoldering rage burning over in his empty eyes.

"Get down here and scrub before I show you why I'm the sole Destruction Cryptek of this Court. Again," Wuuntherm questioned. Saath and Citulah immediately got down on their knees and helped Wuuntherm out, with only Saath showing minor signs of indignation.

"_Yeah, yeah, I'm an auxiliary for a reason, old man…_" Saath mentally grumbled.

* * *

"So they're stable?"

"About as stable as a rounded plasma generator in a quaking building during its discharge phase."

"Yatis, you're not funny. Stop."

Ghedis strode out of the dark purple gateway leading to the Royal Chambers' infirmary, coming upon Azoth, Zult, Thessius – who had his wound fully recovered – and Yatis, as well as two Necron Warriors, all overlooking Grienal's and Jarhntet's recovery from their injuries. Yatis threw his arms up in anger, before balling his fists and staring indignantly at Zult.

"Oh come on, the joke is in the-!" Yatis began, before being quickly interrupted by Azoth.

"If you haven't noticed, you're the only Storm Cryptek here, and only Saath has ANY idea of whatever you're talking about," Azoth growled. "In other words: the fucks we give are currently raining from the sky."

"We're inside," Yatis pointed out.

"And?" Azoth retorted. Ghedis, sighing, stepped forward before the two Crypteks got themselves injured next.

"Look, are those two…Lords ok?" Ghedis asked, temporarily pausing to find the right word to describe them at the moment. Zult stepped forth, an aura of respect and happiness that a higher authority stepped in evident in his being.

"Yeah, they'll be fine. They'll probably be out of commission for another…3 solar hours, at least," Zult explained. "According to Yatis's projections, anyway. They're usually right, though, so no point to doubt him."

"So, does this mean I am funny to you?" Yatis asked, hope evident in his robotic tone.

"No," Zult bluntly stated without even turning to look at Yatis.

"Alright, before anyone starts ANOTHER fight, follow me," Ghedis ordered. "I can fill in Grienal and Jarhntet later. We're going to Doriinal's chambers to discuss who will be leaving to go on an interplanetary campaign with Nemesor Zahndrekh and Vargard Obyron."

"Why Doriinal's chambers and not our usual meeting grounds?" Yatis impulsively asked, earning a groan from Azoth in the process.

"Yatis, these two dipshits behinds us destroyed our auxiliary meeting ground, and our primary meeting grounds are still being fixed after Wuuntherm's...ahem, 'demonstration' of authority to Citulah and Saath," Azoth grumbled. "Seriously, check your memory matrix before speaking."

"Well, I thought we could just go to the primary grounds!" Yatis whined. "We don't HAVE to sit if we don't want to, and we never do anyway!"

"Just stop," Ghedis ordered to the two arguing Crypteks. "Doriinal won't even come out of his chambers anyway. He only came out due to Nihilvokh ordering his entire court to prepare for a coup. Anything less doesn't interest that angry Cryptek."

"Fine, fine, let's go then," Zult plainly stated. "Might as well wait outside the gateway to his chambers though, if we're waiting for the rest of the Court…?"

"That's the plan," Ghedis confirmed, turning around and walking out of the gateway as he did so. The four Crypteks followed, with Azoth nodding at the two remaining Warriors to keep watch over the Lords before disappearing into the dark purple gateway.

* * *

"We any closer yet? …wait, nevermind."

"Yeah, NO SIGNAL. Sucks, don't it?"

"Oh, shut up. I'm sure we're close."

"Well, I DO see a sand dune in a sand dune…"

"…don't throw my jokes back at me. Ever."

"I'm your CO, so hell no."

The two Iron Hands Space Marines continued their crazy charge throughout the dusty deserts, soaring high above the ground one second and then nearly low enough to dig underground the next. The commanding Iron Hand stood tall in the back of the xeno craft, keeping his eyes sharp as he looked around the area for their parking ship while his surviving subordinate continued to try and keep the Catacomb Command Barge in a relatively straight line. The commander of the two held up his bulky right arm to his face, talking into a built-in recorder immediately afterwards.

"Fifth entry on unidentified planet W39 of the South Rim," the commander began. "The Necron activity that Inquisitor Zake Mituchi VII suspected has proven to be more than a simple recon run for an attempted invasion in Imperial space. This planet is a damn Tomb World, most likely uncovered ten to twenty-four hours before we made landfall. I am unsure as to how long the outside Necron force has been in this sector, although I find myself worried more in that the infamous Nemesor Zahndrekh is here to liberate the place."

"Yo, Major Tomas, I'm picking up our signal," the other Iron Hand mentioned. "A few clicks…east from here. Hold on tight, I'm going to try and turn this."

Before Major Tomas could react, a nearly 90 degree turn nearly threw the Iron Hand out of the mobile craft. Readjusting his footing, Tomas turned to the other Iron Hand, slightly annoyed but otherwise stoic.

"That gap in recording was caused by Corporal Oresonn Skibburd making a hard turn in a xeno craft. Emperor forgive his rash actions, if Command will not," Tomas noted in his recording, intentionally yelling loudly to get Skibburd's attention. The driving Iron Hand groaned sarcastically, shooting back his own quip afterwards.

"Yeah, I'm SOOO sorry, everyone," Skibburd chuckled. "Don't worry, next time I'm on a delayed deathtrap planet, I'll make sure I make less noise pulling our asses out of the fire. It'll be great, we'll just walk instead, see the sights and all that."

Ignoring Skibburd's snark, Tomas wrapped up his recording post-haste. "This planet must be broken apart before any more forces can make themselves known. Ready the counter fleet _Dominion_. The Emperor protects."

Turning away from his recording, Tomas looked up and saw a small craft on the distance get larger and larger with each passing second. With a small smirk of relief, Tomas looked down to Skibburd.

"Well, you actually remembered where to go. Congrats, Corporal," Tomas chuckled.

"Hey, don't underestimate my skills, sir," Skibburd joked. "I mean, the things that go FUBAR for other people are just normal drills to me."

"Keep up the attitude, Skibburd, and you just might live another five minutes," Tomas ribbed.

"Speaking of minutes, we got about another two before we get back to the Astral," Skibburd noted, his tone now more formal and worried. "…and I still don't know where the brakes are on this thing."

"You think we could salvage anything from the wreckage?" Tomas wondered.

"Assuming it stops, maybe," Skibburd stated, seeing the _Astral_ get closer each second.

"On my mark, we jump," Tomas ordered. Skibburd tensed up in response, a silent answer of recognition to Tomas's orders. A tense six seconds passed, before Tomas shouted out.

"**MARK!**" Tomas shouted, jumping off the Catacomb Command Barge a split second before Skibburd did. The two Iron Hands rolled into the sand and dirt as the Necron craft, finally without any drivers, careened away from the _Astral_ and off towards the horizon of the Tomb World, bounding up and down the dunes on the desolate surface. Skibburd swept some dirt off of his armor, growling.

"Well, I didn't account for that thing actually not crashing," Skibburd complained. "Great. I had a lot of good implements we could've used that tech for…"

"No sense complaining about it now," Tomas pointed out. "Besides, we probably wouldn't have gotten much from a scrap of it anyway. We need to get out of range of this planet so we can alert the _Dominion_ about this place."

"Alright, let's go then," Skibburd acknowledged. Both Iron Hands began to pile into the _Astral_, intending to leave the forsaken Tomb World behind. As they got inside, Skibburd looked back on the wastelands, his eyes narrowing behind his armored helmet.

"Necron bastards will pay for our unit, mark my words," Skibburd muttered quietly as he closed the entryway.

* * *

"I. HATE. THIS."

"Zahndrekh, please keep quiet. We mustn't alert-!"

"WHATEVER. There is SAND! In my FACE! **GET IT OFF ALREADY!**_"_

Obyron mentally sighed again, feeling a twitch as he did so. Turning around to face Zahndrekh, whom had his arms crossed like a child, took more effort out of Obyron than massacring Overlord Nihilvokh and quelling the feuding Lords combined.

"Lord Zahndrekh, the sand may be distracting, but it won't impede your eyesight," Obyron tried to futilely explain.

"I hate this. My shit's stolen and I'm getting battered with sand," Zahndrekh complained. "This is just like the Middle Eastern Rim campaign all over again…"

"It'd be best if you don't mention that campaign, my Lord, lest you wish to be receiving vitriol from any Necron that still manages to have an opinion," Obyron warned. Zahndrekh just shuffled his arms and legs together in a useless move to ignore the sand, still angry.

"It's Necrontyr…" Zahndrekh whined.

"Lord Obyron, I am picking up something careening off in the distance," one of the Lychguard noted. "It's moving erratically, and it appears to be moving towards us…"

"Is it my ride?" Zahndrekh questioned, incredulous. "If it is, cool! Seriously, I just might consider not killing everything they know and love and only kill them!"

"It's getting closer…" the same Lychguard mentioned. "…it's not stopping."

A realization dawned on Zahndrekh as he processed that information. "Waiwaiwaiwait. …are they ramming us?" Zahndrekh wondered out loud.

"That'd be…probably effective," Obyron mused. "At the speed they're going, they might actually harm this Ghost Ark's exterior. We just have to anticipate where they'll go and avoid them."

"Lord Zahndrekh! Lord Obyron!" a second Lychguard alerted. "That is the lost Catacomb Command Barge, but no one's in it!"

A silence permeated the Ghost Ark (aside from its engines) for three split seconds after the fact.

"**WHAT DID YOU SAY!?" **Zahndrekh bellowed in fury. His question was promptly ignored with the Catacomb Command Barge, instead of ramming the altered Ghost Ark as predicted, made a sharp right and headed towards a large rock formation jutting out of the sands.

"…no…" Zahndrekh muttered, stunned. The Catacomb Command Barge continued careening towards the rock formation, not slowing down in the slightest.

"…NOOOO…" Zahndrekh growled, his jaw grinding together as his robotic palms started to grasp one of the Ghost Ark's outer prongs. The Catacomb Command Barge, as if to comically spite Zahndrekh, shot forward towards the rock formation at even faster speeds, to the point where it was hard for Zahndrekh to hit it.

"NO! NO! NONONONONO!" Zahndrekh screamed, jumping up out of his seat and hopping up and down in anger, almost falling out of the Ghost Ark in the process. Zahndrekh looked in abject terror and unbridled rage as the Catacomb Command Barge reached the rock formation.

However, instead of crashing into it, the Barge made a near-180 degree turn, moving away from the rock formation and charging back at the slow-moving Ghost Ark.

"OH! Oh…oh. Oh, phew," Zahndrekh sighed in relief. "I thought for sure it was gonna crash."

"My Lord, it's going to crash into us!" Obyron pointed out, as the speedy Barge made a straight run towards the Ghost Ark.

"Well, that's much better!" Zahndrekh non-sarcastically boasted while smirking his robotic face as much as it would let him, before standing up tall and moving to the front of the Ark.

"…what are you doing, Lord Zahndrekh?" a third Lychguard questioned, unsure of his master's actions. Zahndrekh merely turned around, his expression beaming with pride.

"Watch and learn, my fellow Necrontyr!" Zahndrekh shouted over the Ark's engines.

"I'll put that on your gravestone, my Lord…" Obyron muttered to himself. Zahndrekh, true to form, completely missed the sarcasm and turned back to the Barge, before jumping off the Ark. The Lychguard, while barely able to react to anything in the first place, showed a small shift in expression from confusion to worry; Obyron stared on, understanding exactly what Zahndrekh intended to do.

Zahndrekh's leap of faith turned out to be spot-on accurate, as he landed atop the Barge as it got extremely close to the Ghost Ark. Zahndrekh's landed immediately shifted the direction the Barge was headed, only glancing the Ark in the process. Zahndrekh got back in his seat, taking control of an emergency panel after connecting into its systems. Tapping the side of his head twice, Zahndrekh brought up a hardlink connection to Obyron.

"Alright, my loyal Vargard," Zahndrekh announced happily. "I got the Barge mostly under control. I knew reusing this would work!"

"Jumping into a runaway Barge…I'll admit, the first time you did that against the…separatist hordes on Byo Molis, I thought you were done for," Obyron admitted, his tone showing remnants of being impressed. "Still, I'm guessing the 'mostly' is because-?"

"This thing's dead," Zahndrekh sadly stated while trying to move the Barge around. "Only thing I can do for it now is crash it into something. However, I can still access its tracking systems, so I can follow it on its path back."

"…meaning we can find these fools and finish them off," Obyron finished, a more positive tone eminent in his voice. "I'll take command of the Ark and make a shorter route to where these fools are. Uplink the Barge's travel path to me."

"Already doing it!" Zahndrekh boisterously laughed, tapping a couple holographic buttons on the Barge's emergency console. Zahndrekh's crazy laughter echoed over the sands and rocks of the Rubaxian Tomb World as Obyron moved the Ghost Ark as fast as he could towards where Skibburd and Tomas were located…

* * *

Ghedis tapped his foot impatiently, waiting outside the gray gate leading to Doriinal's personal quarters for the rest of the Royal Court. Azoth, Zult, Thessius, and Yatis stood alongside Ghedis, awaiting the arrival of Saath, Citulah, and Wuuntherm. Yatis turned to Thessius, obviously bored.

"So…Thessius…anything new in the Tomb World?" Yatis asked, hoping to start a conversation. Thessius tapped the side of his head twice; moments later, Yatis shuddered in disgusted terror.

"Oh gods why why why I didn't even know someone could bend that way…" Yatis cried in true fear that no Necron had heard for several millennia. Thessius just smirked, proud of his achievement of making Yatis cringe. Azoth disapprovingly shook his head at Thessius.

"Stay off the intranet, Thessius," Azoth chastised; a murmur of agreement (and a whine from Yatis) resounded amongst the Royal Court, making Thessius shrug and lie back on the wall, relaxed.

"…why did we even implement that?" Zult questioned. "I mean, sure it's kept Yatis from cracking shitty jokes every half hour, but we didn't just…make it for that express purpose…"

"Why don't we worry about the meeting first and the intranet later?" Wuuntherm sardonically questioned, his grumpy old tone alerting the other Royal Court members. Wuuntherm, Saath, and Citulah all walked into the room, with Wuuntherm using his Eldritch Lance – a Staff of Light with a four-pronged blade – as a cane to help him walk.

"Wuuntherm. Glad you could join us," Ghedis formally stated. Wuuntherm waved him off, chuckling lightly.

"Meh, it's what I do," Wuuntherm began, before the sharp tone of Doriinal's voice caught everyone off guard.

"Will the ASSHOLES standing in front of my door get in here already!?" Doriinal chastised. "Seriously, no one cares about your idle bullcrap chit-chat! If you have something to tell me, COME IN HERE ALREADY."

"…wow, what an asshole," Azoth muttered.

"Seconded," Saath agreed. The Royal Court entered Doriinal's chambers immediately after, entering a tidy quarters with neatly stacked chemical vats and scientific equipment, containing many substances from physical chemicals to literal essences of emotion condensed into a liquid form. Doriinal turned to the Royal Court, his expression contorting into the worst mixture of boredom and apathy.

"So, what's the occasion? 'Cause I am not going out of my way for ol' Rustbucket's funeral dirge," Doriinal stated. "Just throw him in a coffin, spit the nails in, and throw him into a plasma bath or some shit. Y'know, whatever we do to our deader than dead."

"Zahndrekh wants about half of us for an interstellar campaign," Ghedis plainly stated. Everyone in the room, even Doriinal (however slightly), reacted in surprised shock to this news.

"Seriously? I'd enjoy seeing different Tomb Worlds," Wuuntherm stated.

"I'd prefer seeing how different the world is," Zult mentioned. "Since our star charts are all out of date, comparing what we knew existing in our time to today would be intriguing."

"Hey, if I get to kill shit, sign me up," Doriinal stated with a hint of glee in his voice. Yatis, having slightly improved, got up from his trembling state.

"I've always wanted-!"

Thessius tapped his head twice again.

"Whyyyy…" Yatis moaned as he fell back to the ground in terror. Doriinal smirked at this, chuckling at Thessius's actions.

"You are a total dick, Thessius," Doriinal chuckled. Thessius responded with a thumbs up, grinning as he did so. Ghedis cleared his throat, getting the group back on track.

"While 'clearing my throat' isn't necessary due to our lack of organic bodies, I'd like to get this finished quickly," Ghedis stated. "We'll need around half our Court, making that six of us staying and five leaving."

Ghedis stopped for a moment as he observed everyone. "I'll state this flat-out: I plan to have at least one Lord go with them. Either Grienal or Jarhntet, because I refuse to have them both working in tandem," Ghedis explained. "As such, I plan to stay behind to manage this Tomb World with whichever Lord we keep behind."

"I'd rather prefer to stay behind," Azoth mentioned. "Just out of a want to protect the home front and all that."

"Sign me up for the campaign!" Wuuntherm enthusiastically announced. "It'll be a good experience for me, I can tell!"

"I'll go too," Saath mentioned, a slight smirk hiding behind his facial expression. "After all, we'll need someone to care for the old man here."

Wuuntherm turned and gave Saath a dirty look as Yatis got back up from his trembling fit. "C-can I go somewhere that doesn't involve Thessius?" Yatis mumbled.

"Pussy," Doriinal laughed, earning a glare from the disturbed Storm Cryptek.

"Alright, then since Thessius doesn't say jack shit, you're going with Zahndrekh," Ghedis ordered. "Your abilities will be of better use in the field. OK, so we have Grienal or Jarhntet, Wuuntherm, Saath, and Yatis. One more opening, guys. Who's up for it?"

Zult and Citulah looked between each other, wondering which one of them would go, until Doriinal walked forward, right up to Ghedis's face. "I'll need some help moving my shit to Zahndrekh's ship," Doriinal stated. Ghedis, knowing that was the extent of Doriinal's civility, curtly nodded.

"Understood. Do good out there," Ghedis encouraged, before turning to everyone else. "We'll discuss which of the Lords is going later. Those who are leaving, get your crap that you know you'll need together. Those who are staying, go around the Tomb World and pick up your contingency packs so this place can keep functioning."

With everyone understanding their orders, the Royal Court dispersed, exiting Doriinal's chambers and going in several different directions outside Doriinal's room. Doriinal himself, though, turned back to his scientific equipment, a grin widening on his face. Tapping the side of his head three times, a plasma screen appeared on the wall behind his equipment, showing the face of a Necron Immortal with a purple glow behind his eyes.

"I caN tEll sOmeThING gooD hAs OccUrED?" the purple Necron Immortal questioned.

"Hell yeah," Doriinal chuckled. "Keep in touch, man. This shit'll be sick."

"…rIgHT," the purple Immortal sighed, obviously annoyed with Doriinal's uncouth tone, before disconnecting immediately. Doriinal quickly began organizing his stuff, truly eager to escape what he considered the oppressive and boring Tomb World of Rubax.

* * *

"Uh, Major Tomas? Something's coming from the distance…" Corporal Skibburd stated. Major Tomas looked outside one of the reinforced-adamantium windows of the _Astral_, before pulling up the ship's radar. While the radar was scrambled badly from the Tomb World's security systems, it could still pick up two unknown vehicles approaching their location quickly.

"We don't have friendlies in the area," Tomas mentioned. "Either we have an invading force on our hands or the Necrons caught up."

"Dammit, let's go," Skibburd grumbled. "We can't beat them like this."

Tomas nodded his head in understanding, activating the _Astral_'s launching system. The only open door on the _Astral_ immediately shut as the rockets beneath the _Astral_ began to power up. Flames began to spit out of the rockets…

…right as Zahndrekh's damaged Catacomb Command Barge soared over the horizon, getting ever closer to the _Astral._

"Obyron! I found the thieving seperatists! COMMENCE THE ORBITAL BOMBARDMENT!" Zahndrekh ordered through his hardlink communicator.

"Wh…that would nearly kill us!" Obyron pointed out.

"NEARLY being the key word!" Zahndrekh countered. "Bah, never mind! Use the gauss to show whose boss! Which is me, but y'know, semantics and all that."

Obyron, ignoring his master's rampancy, moved the Ghost Ark to where it would be able to fire upon the _Astral_, before firing. Several gauss flayer shots soared towards the _Astral_, with several hitting it and doing no damage whatsoever. Zahndrekh sped by the _Astral_, firing another round of tesla cannon blasts and concentrated beams from his Staff of Light. Obyron, noting the attacks were not even doing scratch damage, called up Zahndrekh once more.

"My Lord, your attacks are literally doing nothing to it," Obyron informed. "Our cursory scans show this Iron Hand transport has at least an All-Around Armor rating of thirteen."

"Oh, it's of no issue, my dear Obyron!" Zahndrekh suavely answered. "After all, we all have iron hands from the Great Sleep giving us this swe-eeet full-body armor!"

"_YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME WHY!" _Obyron screamed in his head while twitching violently.

* * *

"It's the xenos, boss," Skibburd growled as the gauss and tesla shots rocketed off the exterior of the ship.

"Yeah, but for future reference, tell me what kind of xenos they are," Tomas noted. "For all we know, there could be Eldar out there attacking."

"How's the takeoff doing?" Skibburd questioned. "I don't want these damn Necrons getting a lucky shot in."

"Don't worry, takeoff is in three…two…four…eight…what the hell is WRONG with these damn numbers!?" Tomas shouted, frantically mashing his holographic console in an attempt to make the _Astral_ launch faster.

"Sixteen…three…eight…four…five…two…one point three?" Skibburd muttered. "Is something messing with our systems?"

As if it was on cue, the familiar hexagonal eye and triangular body of the Klippitz System appeared in front of Major Tomas.

"Welcome to Klippitz. Seeing as this is your first time installing the Klippitz Corporation software, do you wish for an explanation of our basic systems?" the hologram plainly asked.

"…the hell is this thing?" Skibburd murmured in a mix of annoyance and awe.

"Interpreting answer as yes, regardless of vagueness of actual statement," the Klippitz program stated. "If you have a problem with this result, please contact your nearest Klippitz software technician, or otherwise answer any given statements more clearly."

"…Major Tomas? Permission to speak freely?" Skibburd began, his voice slow and delicate. Tomas turned to him, smirking.

"Has protocol ever stopped you from speaking freely?" Tomas rhetorically countered.

"Let's waste this program," Skibburd chuckled. Tomas began pressing several sets of buttons on his holographic console. Klippitz's hologram began to flicker in and out of their vision, its speech becoming a garbled mess that failed to irritate the two Iron Hands.

"Why do they always try to hack our ships? We're Iron Hands," Skibburd pointed out. "You think they're stupid?"

"Yes," Tomas bluntly answered, now focusing on trying to get past Klippitz's programs before it locked up the _Astral_. "Now, hold on tight. I got this."

* * *

"Zahndrekh, I'm detecting a foreign data code coming from the _Astral_," Obyron informed. Zahndrekh smirked, answering back quickly while swerving the Catacomb Command Barge back around towards the _Astral_.

"Don't worry, Obyron! It's Klippitz! I simply uploaded its code to mess with the separatist ship system while under the guise of shooting it!" Zahndrekh boasted. "Genius, man! GENIUS!"

"…yes," Obyron sighed, reminding himself of Zahndrekh's military genius while composing himself. "So, what's our next move, my Lord?"

"I'M GOING TO CHARGE THIS SHIT."

"…repeat, my Lord?" Obyron asked, incredulous.

"I'm going to charge my Catacomb Command Barge at this ship, jump out at the last second, roll in the sand like I'm enjoying a day at the beach, and then marvel in the explosion like it was the Day of Necrontyr Unity!" Zahndrekh gleefully laughed.

"…that was long ago," Obyron stated, almost sullen in his tone.

"And soon enough, we all can celebrate it again," Zahndrekh stated, a wistful hope in his tone. "Now! Separatists! PREPARE FOR **DIE!**"

Zahndrekh pumped up the speed of the Catacomb Command Barge, before jumping out of it at its high velocity. Zahndrekh slammed into the sandy ground and began to tumble violently while the Barge got closer to the _Astral_.

"Woahowowowoahwhyhelphelphelp," Zahndrekh helplessly chattered as he rolled along the sandy hills of Rubax, which only caused more issues when a loud explosion caused Zahndrekh to roll even farther away.

* * *

"WHAT JUST HIT US?"

"Calm down, Skibburd," Tomas coolly dismissed. "Do you really think an exploding vehicle can stop me?"

* * *

"Nopenopenopeokwaitstopstop," Zahndrekh mumbled to himself, managing to get back up from his long tumble. "HAH! Stuck the landing after fifty feet. New personal best!"

Zahndrekh turned around, his arms on his hips, a large smile evident on his robotic face. However, he then saw that the exploded Catacomb Command Barge actually didn't slow down the _Astral_, as the ship was still taking off without any deterrence. Zahndrekh gaped at this change of pace, his arms falling to his sides. Obyron pulled up in his Ghost Ark, hopping out along with the other five Lychguard.

"I apologize, Lord Zahndrekh," one of the Lychguard stated, bending down on one knee as he did so. "We have failed you, and we shall accept whatever punishment you deem fit."

"…no punishment is needed," Zahndrekh stated through grinding 'teeth' while he turned to his subordinates. "You couldn't have done anything with only close combat weapons. Everyone, regroup at the Tomb World. Obyron, summon the Tomb Ship Xexan. We need to track that ship."

"I assume this changes our initial plans?" Obyron rhetorically questioned.

"Get ahold of Ghedis. We'll need his new squad," Zahndrekh ordered while he and the Lychguard got aboard the Ghost Ark. "If he isn't ready, then make your own decisions."

"Understood," Obyron acknowledged, getting aboard the Ghost Ark as well. "We'll catch those fools soon enough."

Zahndrekh sat aboard the Ghost Ark, tapping his metallic fingers together whilst in deep thought. "I'll do more than that," Zahndrekh growled. "…wait, can't you order the Xexan to shoot down their ship?"

"Already tried it moments ago," Obyron casually dismissed. "They dodged it."

"Son of a bitch," Zahndrekh swore, sighing angrily. The Ghost Ark took off towards the Tomb World's entrance, leaving dust and echoes in its wake.

* * *

"Did you get Major Tomas's report yet?"

"It should be coming in soon. …hold on, I got something."

"It has Tomas's biometric signature."

"Give it to me."

…

…

"A Tomb World. Near Faridah IV. Of course…"

"I guess your hunch was right after all."

"I seriously wish I was wrong sometimes. Suggestions?"

"Well, first things first…"

An explosion racked the scarred battlefield as human troopers in green armor shot red lasers at advancing enemy troopers adorned in what could only be described as hollow bones and sleek, shiny armor. Two specific people stood behind the human troopers; one was a tall, well-built man wearing a black cape with a red suit underneath, with a fancy black hat and several military medals attached. The other was a human trooper with three yellow chevrons adorned on the left breast of his green armor. The black-caped man took several potshots at the advancing enemy army, hitting three of their soldiers with a ball of blue plasma shot from his pistol.

"…let's get these damn xenos off our outpost."

* * *

**Sorry for the long, LONG wait! Hopefully this chapter will be satisfactory for you! Except YOU, Blaster man7. We all know no matter what I write, it's never as good as Kaiju movies. :P**

**I kid, of course. (whisper) For those out of the loop, we're real-life pals.**

**(normal voice) Anyways, here's some minor trivia. I finished this chapter several days ago while on vacation with my family and Blaster man7, I have little to no idea how any other Codex works, and most of the named planets are named off the top of my head!**

**Don't worry though: I'll work hard to make everything not Necron-related seem logical and sensible within Warhammer canon! See you all in the next chapter of the **_**Force**_** arc, where Zahndrekh FINALLY LEAVES THIS PLANET.**

**Seriously, it feels like he's been here for months… (shameless DBZ joke, ho!)**


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